Christmas Visitation
by LoveSupreme
Summary: WIP Sequel to Visitation, and doesn't the very specific title really say it best? R&R if you please.
1. The Trump Card Is Played

Draco gave the password to that huge monstrosity of a portrait and slipped up the stairs to the boys' dormitories. It was a cold winter day, but it was scorching in Gryffindor tower. Or at least he thought so. Of course he spent every night in the famously-cold Slytherin dungeons.

It was strange to see the Gryffindor tower so devoid of humanity, but then Harry had said that it would be empty. It was dinner time, and that might be why.

"Hey there, sexy." Draco teased as he entered the dorm room. Harry was sitting at his desk, presumably working on the Potions essay due tomorrow.

"Hey," Harry beamed and pushed his Potions book aside.

"Is that the best 'Hello' you can muster, Potter?"

"Hm, let me try again." Harry said and slinked over to the blonde before drawing him in for a long kiss.

"That's much better," whispered the Slytherin, and Harry laughed, going back to his seat. God the boy was hot, especially in the new clothes Draco had bought him as an extremely late birthday present—dark slacks that prevented Draco's imagination from over working itself, and a forest green sweater that did wonders for Harry's eyes. "What are you working on?"

"Your bitch teacher's stupid essay. Seriously—why the hell do I care how hollysprock is used?"

"Um, because it'll save you're life?"

"Yeah, if I'm ever bitten by a vampire during a full moon sometime between September and December." Harry said, showing Draco the text in the book. "What are the chances?"

"With your luck? I mean, what are the chances that an evil wizard is going to rise from the dead and attach himself to the back of your professor's scull and try once again to kill you?"

"Wow, thanks so much for bringing that up. I had only just begun to stop thinking about it."

"Oh, shush." Draco laughed and Harry shook his head as he got back to his essay.

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about, anyway? You should have seen Ron and Hermoine's faces when I told them you wanted to talk to me alone."

"Why? I talk to you alone all the time." Draco said, suddenly nervous. He leaned back against the desk for support.

"Yeah, but you never specifically _ask_ to talk to me alone. We always just happen to be alone and then we talk. I'm pretty sure Hermoine thinks you're going to break it off with me."

"Oh…and…what do you think?"

Harry looked up from his book and smiled. "I'm not worried. I know you can't live without me and be happy."

"Arsehole," scoffed Draco, but he didn't sound as if his heart were in it.

"So if that's not it, then what did you want to talk to me about oh-so-privately?" Harry questioned, bending over his parchment. He seemed too engrossed in his essay to really push Draco towards answering, and Draco procrastinated with his devastating news by staring at his boyfriend. His real boyfriend. Ever since his parent's visit there was no more semi-boyfriend, kind-of-boyfriend, or sex-slave. Harry was his boyfriend and the few students who were too blind to notice their five-month affair were finally informed of the strange alliance.

Draco knew that he and Harry were beyond different—they were polar opposites. But these differences hadn't stopped them from turning hatred into ardor, and Draco still looked back on those power-play struggles/love-making sessions as some of the hottest he'd ever had. Now that they were official it was more difficult to ignore their differences. And he was about to add to the problem. But it really couldn't be helped.

"The reason I wanted to talk to you…is, well…it's hard to say."

"Just say it. It can't be that bad."

"Actually…it can. My parents want you to stay with us for Christmas break."

"Fuck that." Harry said without pausing his in his writing.

"…Excuse me?" Draco asked in harsh surprise, knowing he had heard correctly but giving Harry the chance to revise his statement.

"No, like, literally—fuck that." Harry said again, putting down his quill and sitting back in his chair, looking at Draco defiantly.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that, under the Cruciatus curse, there is no fucking way I'm going stay with your parents over the holidays. Besides, the Weasleys already invited me to stay at the Burrow over holidays." Harry said as he put his Potions book away in his satchel.

"Yeah, well, you're not dating the Weasleys!"

"You don't know that."

"Harry James Potter—you are _so_ shacking up with me over holidays!"

"Why should I? Your parents' visit in October was horrid enough, what's the point? Why add to their anguish by flaunting our relationship right under their noses? Your dad could have a stroke, and then where would you be?"

"Don't be stupid! My parents are the ones that _want_ us to spend Christmas with them! _Obviously_ they don't mind our relationship."

"My God! I thought Slytherins were renowned for their evil intellect!"

"What are you going on about?" Draco drawled, feigning boredom as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"You parents _obviously_ only want us close enough to break us up! They realize they don't have enough personal presence to do it from the Manor, so they're bringing us within sabotage range!" Harry was actually so into the argument that he hopped up from his chair in order to properly yell.

"You are so paranoid!"

"I'm practical! It's what you're supposed to be good at, self-proclaimed Prince of Slytherin."

"You are both ridiculous AND coming to the Manor this Christmas!"

"Oh, yeah, okay. That convinced me. I'm all for it now."

Draco opened his mouth to shout something mean at his idiot boyfriend, and then stopped himself. He took a deep breath, and unwound his tightened limbs. He calmed himself. He let his arms lose. Harry seemed unnerved.

Good.

"Harry," Draco started gently.

"Oh, shit," Harry swore. Draco smiled slightly as he slunk to his boyfriend and wrapped his arms carefully around the boy's neck. Harry seemed to know that he was done for, and simply let his hands rest on the blonde's slim hips, looking sulky.

"Harry. You mean everything to me. I'm asking you for one thing. I just want to spend Christmas with the boy I love."

"You are so vile." Harry groaned, and he dropped his head back in defeat.

"You give in, then?" Draco asked, kissing and nipping his way up the exposed neck.

"Do I have a choice? You played your trump card." Harry replied, dropping his head back down dejectedly. Draco was beaming. Damn, he was good at this!

"We'll be fine, Golden Boy. They couldn't get me to break up with you back in October." Draco reasoned.

"Yeah, but by now they've had time to plan!"

"I love you, Harry. I'm not going to leave you." Draco whispered, pulling the boy close. Harry's arms slid around his body and he sighed heavily.

"Yeah, well, let's just see how you feel _after_ the holidays."

XXX

"I can't stay with you over break." Harry grumbled to his friend as he finally arrived at the Great Hall in time for dessert.

"What?! Why not? Did the ferret say you can't stay with me—because screw him!" Ron yelled, stopping halfway through his treacle tart. Hermoine put down her book to hear the events, too.

"His _parents_ want us to stay at the _Manor_ over holidays."

"Fuck that." Ron said, folding his arms grumpily over his chest and pouting angrily.

"That's what I said."

"Tell him no!"

"I can't, he played his trump card." Harry sighed. Everyone within ear shot cringed at this news.

"Ouch, tough one, Harry." Seamus said apologetically.

"There's no way out of that one." Parvati agreed.

"Don't you have like a counter-trump card or something?" Dean questioned.

"I wish. I have a pity card, but that's about it."

"What's his trump card? Is it good?" Neville asked avidly. Harry didn't think Neville had ever had a girl friend, although he was a wonderful bloke, so Neville always seemed overly interested in everyone else's relationships.

"It's the 'I love you' card coupled with the 'If you did this for me it would make me very happy' card. It gets me every time." Harry shook his head woefully even as he said it.

"That _is_ tough." Seamus nodded.

"He doesn't usually use it unless there's no other choice—I think he's afraid I'll build up a tolerance to it."

"I remember Hannah Abbott always used the 'all the other boyfriends do it' card. That's how I ended up in Madame Puddifoot's so often." Dean admitted. Everyone nodded in mutual suffering; except Lavender.

"What's wrong with that?" she asked cluelessly.

"Don't you Gryffindors do anything but gossip?" a familiarly icy voice questioned.

Draco pulled his boyfriend's head back by the hair and pecked him on the lips before insinuating himself between Harry and Ron.

"We were just talking about you and your unadulterated evilness." Harry explained in a dark tone.

"That's nice. Ugh, I'm starving. I didn't get back in time to eat any real food."

"There's plenty of food." Harry said, motioning to the table full of hot chocolate, treacle tarts, and ice cream.

"You're going to be a fat old man one day, Harry Potter. And this is why."

"Yeah, well, you'll be dating a fat old man, so why bother watching your figure? Have some treacle tart."

Draco shrugged and dug into Harry's treacle tart.

"Okay, because mine is more appetizing than all those uneaten treacle tarts sitting right in front of you."

Draco only smiled and kissed him again.

"You're looking pretty happy, Malfoy." Hermoine said.

"Of course I'm happy—I won."

"Okay, let's get this straight. You didn't _win_. You _cheated_." Harry reminded.

"Who cares if I cheated? I still won."

"That wraps up Slytherin in a nutshell." Seamus sighed.

"I know it—did you see them in the Hufflpuff game? How Madam Hooch missed all those fouls I'll never know!" Dean agreed.

"Excuse me!" Draco cried out angrily.

"Okay, just tell me, do you guys practice for subtly fouling other players?"

"If that's what they practice then it explains why their team is so abysmal this year. Fouling is about the only thing they're good at." Ron said, clearly enjoying getting back at the blonde one way or another.

"Oh don't even start, _Weasel_. I don't see where you get off calling other teams abysmal when you are by and large the worst Keeper I have ever seen!"

"Don't think that just because you can't live without my best friend and be happy means I won't curse you into next week, Malfoy!" Ron shouted back, and the table erupted into laughter as the blonde's face went scarlet.

"And we're done. Come on, Draco. Thanks guys, so much. I'll have to deal with him when he recovers his capabilities for speech, you know." Harry grumbled, pulling the blonde up and out of the Great Hall.

"How can you be friends with that freckled little excuse for matter—stupid, poor, hideous—thinks he's so great just because he's friends with the Boy Who Lived." Draco was growling to himself as Harry led him to the Slytherin dungeons.

"Could you please not call me that?" Harry said through gritted teeth, trying to be patient as his boyfriend vented.

"That's exactly what it is! It was pure coincidence in any case! Just because he met you first—he's got no right! I mean I'm _dating_ the Boy Who Lived, that has to make me better than his stupid best friend."

"Knock it off!" Harry shouted, turning on the blonde. "_Harry_. My name is not the Boy Who Lived, or anything else the tabloids come up with, got it? _Harry_."

Draco had shrunk against the stone wall in surprise at Harry's outburst and stayed put as the boy calmed down.

"I'm sorry. I just…I'm sorry." Harry sighed, scrubbing at his eyes under his glasses. "I guess I'm just stressed with this stupid Manor stuff. And now that we're dating you and Ron never get along—I'm always running interference between you two. I just feel so—I don't even know. Pulled apart." He leaned back against the wall opposite the blonde, and Draco realized how exhausted Harry seemed lately. This relationship obviously took more of a toll on Harry who actually cared about his friends and their happiness. Draco knew that few of his "friends" supported his relationship with the Gryffindor, but he really couldn't care less. One thing he had learned from life was to always put himself first, so how his actions affected others played very little part in his decision-making process. For some reason he had never thought that Harry would feel differently. He should have known better.

_Whatever you're feeling, that's the opposite of what Potter's feeling, _Draco reminded himself harshly.

He moved from the wall and wrapped his arms tightly around Potter's waist, relief flooding him when the brunette responded with his own embrace.

"I'm sorry. You're a wonderful boyfriend and I'm sorry, Harry. It means so much to me that you're coming with me for holidays—I know that it's a big concession."

Harry rested his cheek on top of Draco's head and took a deep breath.

"Thanks. I do want to spend Christmas with you."

Draco smiled sadly. "Just not with my family."

There was a long pause, which Draco thought was appropriate. But instead of finally putting forth something equally melodramatic, Harry said,

"Well, I mean…your dad _has_ tried to _murder_ me on a number of occasions. I suppose that would put a strain on any relationship," forcing Draco to laugh when he really did want that dramatic ending.


	2. Happy Christmas, Draco

Harry took off his wizarding robes before the train had even left Hogsmeade, and Hermoine realized that since Draco had bought him half a clothing store for his belated birthday, Harry was much more prone to stripping. Not that she minded.

"You suck. You know that right?" Ron growled at Draco as the blonde cuddled up to Harry until he was practically seated in the Gryffindor's lap.

"_I_ know it." Harry said brightly.

"Shut up, Potter." Draco chuckled.

"I don't see why you look so happy. Two weeks with the Malfoys!" Ron reminded his best friend.

"I know why you look so happy," said Draco mischievously.

"I don't want to know!" Ron groaned

"I wouldn't mind a little summary." Hermoine admitted.

"Ew! Hermoine!" the boys shouted. But she shrugged off their protests.

The other members of what Draco disparagingly referred to as the "Gryffindork Gang" arrived, and they even managed to fit in the one car.

Draco struggled to keep his eyes open, but the rumble of the train on the tracks was so relaxing, and he was cuddled up to his warm boyfriend, and he was so knackered after last night what with his warm boyfriend and then all that packing, and the conversation really was so dull.

When Harry began to run his fingertips softly over the back of Draco's neck and then through his hair, the blonde knew he was done for. He rested his head on Harry's shoulder and let it happen.

"What's up with Blondie?" Ron asked, motioning to Draco's sleeping form. Harry just smiled.

"Oh, he's just a bit knackered after last night I suppose."

"At least one of us is getting some." Seamus muttered.

"Speak for yourself, Seamus!"

"Ron!"

"No, Hermoine! I didn't mean it like—like _us_! I just meant that he should speak for himself in case like…I don't know…someone _else_ was also getting some."

"He was protecting the little people: those voiceless souls who cannot themselves tell Seamus to speak for himself." Dean laughed.

"Exactly..."

"Draco's not usually so knackered, is he, Harry? Is he feeling all right?" Hermoine questioned.

Harry looked over his boyfriend's face to make sure he really was sleeping, and then cupped a hand over Draco's free ear as an added protective measure.

"Actually, I kind of overdid it last night. On purpose, I mean, and then he still had to pack practically his entire wardrobe. Anyway, I just think it's going to be weird…er…'getting some'—around his parents."

"You won't be doing it right in front of them, Harry!" Dean said. "_Hopefully_."

"I know that! I just mean, like, in their house. I don't know. I just think it'll be weird."

"So you're just going to _not do it_ all holiday?"

"Well…I mean…I'm going to _try_."

"Yeah, good luck with that." Seamus snorted.

"Happy frigging Christmas," muttered Dean.

"Happy Christmas, Draco! I'm going to not touch you for two weeks!" Seamus play-acted to Dean happily.

"Oh Harry! You shouldn't have!" Dean replied, and they embraced, falling accidentally to the floor as they over-weighted one another.

Draco jerked awake at the thud and rubbed his bleary eyes under furrowed brows. Harry was surprised the whole car didn't break into an en mass chorus of "Awww!"

"Shouldn't have what?" he mumbled through a heavy pout.

"I…er, shouldn't have let you sleep so uncomfortably. You're absolutely right, Dean. Here, Draco, lie down."

Draco groaned and sighed, but laid himself down over Harry's legs, propping one of his own slender legs on Neville's knee. Harry loved the way Draco contorted himself in sleep—one arm curled against his chest, his other arm looped around Harry's thigh and held in place by the weight of it, one leg on Neville and the other weaved through the boy's ankles. Harry smiled and petted the boy's fine blonde hair fondly.

"Looks like Neville's finally getting a little action!" Seamus laughed, and Neville's entire face went beet red.

"If only Draco were conscious," snickered Ron.

"Trust me when I say you don't want that. Unless of course you'd appreciate a grumpy Slytherin snarking at you all the way to London?"

The group shook their heads in unison.

"Then I'd keep it down if I were you guys."

"Why, if I may ask, do you think it's a good idea to cut Draco off for two weeks?" Hermoine piped up.

"Yeah, you remember what he was like as a sexless first year—Draco's a menace when he's not getting any!" Seamus agreed.

"He was _eleven_. I doubt his evilness was in any way fueled by lack of sex." Harry reasoned.

"All I know is, he's a lot easier to get along with since he's taken up with you. Do you know the other day I saw some first year knock into him and instead of hexing him Draco just shouted random rabble about house-elves staying in the kitchen?" Neville added. "I'm not sure what that was about."

"Oh Merlin, Neville!" Ron groaned. "He was likening the first year to a house elf, probably due to height, or bizarre facial structures, or general filthiness…" Ron's voice shriveled under Hermoine's steadfast glare. "Er…not that that's what _I_ think, mind you."

"_Anyway_. You really think you can keep your hands to yourself for two whole weeks?" Hermoine questioned her friend.

"Oh, he'll have no problem keep his hands to _himself_." Seamus snickered. Harry chose to ignore him.

"Ummm, more like _hope_." Harry replied to his sometimes-_too_-smart friend.

"You better _hope_ Draco doesn't get fed up with his…let's say _sexually lax_ boyfriend turning into a prude just in time for a nearly unsupervised holiday."

"Like Hogwarts' supervision ever stopped them."

"Amen, I once walked into the dorms in the _middle of the day_, and who do you think I heard screaming at the top of his lungs?"

"I heard that from the Quidditch pitch. 'Oh, oh, oh God! Oh, Harry!"

"Wow, somebody fixed that into their memory pretty accurately."

"How would you know if it was accurate, perv?"

"It was very accurate." Harry sighed as the blonde groaned and twisted slightly to avoid the momentary disruption occurring in Harry's pants.


	3. The Fight, Sort Of

"I don't want to!" Lucius whined. Narcissa glanced up from doing up her husband's black bow tie with agitation. He had been whining similar phrases and stomping around the Manor in a heavy pout for nearly a week now—ever since she had mentioned inviting Harry Potter to Christmas.

"Darling, you want Draco home for Christmas, don't you?"

"I guess," Lucius moped.

"Well Draco won't spend Christmas without Harry. It's either this or our only son goes with those Weasleys for holiday. How do you feel about _that_?"

"Not happy."

"Exactly. Now we can be gracious to our son's boyfriend and have a Happy Christmas, or you can be an idiot and the both of them will be hailing the Knight Bus to the Burrow this time tomorrow. See?"

"But I don't want to!" Lucius cried, stomping his feet petulantly. Narcissa pulled the bowtie sharply, cutting off her husband's airway.

"Now you listen here! Harry and Draco love each other and if you drive my son out of his home by being a jackass I swear to Merlin I'll leave your ass and take everything with me! I will drag you through the dirt so hard you'll be dishwater blonde for the rest of your natural life—which will be as long as I deem appropriate! Do you hear me?!" Narcissa screeched directly in Lucius' reddening face. He nodded, unable to breath, and Narcissa released him to choke for breath on the bedroom floor.

"Now, how are you going to behave for the next two weeks?" she asked dangerously.

"Like a pleasant person," Lucius gasped, coughing.

"And how are you going to treat Harry?"

"Like I would someone of consequence!"

"And are you going to make me give you another talking to?"

"No! No!"

"Good. Now come on and get ready. They should just be arriving in London."

XXX

"This is it." Harry said dully as he sidled up to Hermoine and Ron outside the barrier between platforms 9 and 10.

"Oh Harry! Write if you need anything—anything at all!" Hermoine nearly sobbed.

"Yeah, mate, same here. Two weeks is hardly anything—it'll be over before you know it."

"He's going to my _mansion_! Not a _gulag_!" Draco cried, but he was widely ignored, which he loathed.

"Hey, there's the fam. Come say bye. Mum'll probably bawl all over you, she nearly had a crying fit when I wrote her you wouldn't be staying for holidays."

"Oh come on, Harry, pick up the pace. I'm sick of standing out here—let's go." Draco whined.

"Why, are your parents here?" Harry questioned, looking around. There were the Weasleys huddled around Ginny, but he didn't see any ice-blond tops.

"What are you talking about? My parents haven't picked me up from the train since first year—for Merlin's sake, we have people for that!"

Harry exchanged a painful look with Hermoine and Ron. Surely Draco couldn't keep this up for two weeks, could he?

"I'll be right back, don't worry." Harry said, and before Draco could protest further, he walked into the throng of redheads with his two friends, leaving the blonde to glower with the luggage.

"Agh, Harry! Oh, Harry—I'm so sorry you couldn't come and stay with us over holidays!" Molly Weasley cried, and as soon as Harry was within arms reach he found himself enveloped in a warm embrace.

"Yeah, poor Harry Potter. Always getting the short end of the stick." George sighed.

"He'll probably freeze to death in that gigantic Manor—all those drafts!"

"His stomach won't be able to handle all those rich foods!"

"His skin won't know what to do with so much silk and satin flooding over him!"

"His poor hands won't be able to hold up all the jewels that shall be showered upon him at his entrance!"

"The both of you stop it!" Mrs. Weasley shouted. "It's not where he's sleeping that matters."

"It's who he's sleeping with." George snickered.

"I just hope that you'll manage to have a…nice time with the Malfoys." Molly said, ignoring her two sons.

"Here's hoping they didn't invite ol' Voldy to Christmas, too."

"_There's_ an awkward seating arrangement."

Harry felt a violent tug on the back of his jumper and turned to see his boyfriend with an angry set jaw and flashing eyes.

"Come on, Potter! I'm sick of waiting around here!"

"Draco," Mrs. Weasley greeted, but Draco barely met her eyes before setting them back on Harry.

"I mean it, Potter—come on!" Draco growled. Harry felt a heat rising in his chest like it used to do when Draco acted like this much of an asshole.

"We should get going," Mr. Weasley murmured, rubbing Molly's back. She was starting to tear up.

"Harry dear, you make sure to write us. Be good and stay out of trouble. Try and have a Happy Christmas." Mrs. Weasley said tearfully, and pulled Harry into another hug.

"Keep us up to date, eh, Harry?" George said playfully, patting Harry on the back hard.

"Yeah, with all the gossiping you'll be privy to this holiday, you better share a little." Fred laughed, pulling Harry close. Up against the redhead, Fred and George whispered to him quietly.

"If the ferret or his pod start giving you shit, you know where to find us."

"Yeah, we'll fix 'em up real nice." Fred cackled.

"Er…thanks, guys.

"No problem!"

"Anything for the Boy Who Lived!" Fred sighed dreamily.

"Bye, guys," Harry said to Ron, Ginny, and Hermoine. Hermoine hugged him tight and Ginny kissed his cheek while Ron ruffled his hair fondly, and then it was over. They went their separate ways, and Harry couldn't help but feel lonely, walking away with Draco while the entire Weasley family and extensions walked the other direction.

"Good God! Took them long enough to shove off."

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, clenching his fists.

"Come on. The car's over here." Draco sighed densely, and he left Harry to push the trolley of luggage to a pristine white Limousine, bitching all the way. "I can't believe you left me with the luggage! Don't you ever do that to me again. And how come Fred Weasley gets to call you The Boy Who Lived and I don't? And what did he mean we'll be gossiping all holiday? Malfoys do _not_ gossip—we just like to stay informed."

No matter how much luggage Harry shoved haphazardly into the trunk, it all fit. But of course if the Malfoys had to have a Muggle car it would be the best, and magically altered to boot.

Inside it was warm and plush, and Harry felt awkward sitting beside his lounging boyfriend on the white satin seats, as if he would leave a smear of grime wherever he touched. He knew that he felt like this because of the Dursleys, but that didn't help him to stop feeling it.

"You want something to drink?" Draco asked, leaning over easily and opening a console in the wall—pulling out a drawer it turned out to be a liquor cabinet.

"No. I'm not thirsty." Harry grumbled, and looked out of the window as London passed by at hyper speed. The car must have the same properties of the Knight Bus, Harry assumed, but he was feeling uncharacteristically non-curious.

"What's the matter?" Draco questioned, closing the console again.

"Nothing's the matter. I'm fine."

"You're a horrible liar, is what you are. Missing your little friends already? It hasn't even been ten minutes." Harry didn't reply. He knew that if he said anything to encourage Draco's dialogue it would only induce a fight, so he kept his eyes on the window and his mouth shut.

Draco didn't seem to be willing to let it go at that.

"I really don't see what's so hot about them. The Manor's much more comfortable than their little hut."

"You've never even been there." Harry murmured.

"So? Look how they dress. You can always tell how someone lives by how they dress."

"I don't want to get into this, Draco." Harry sighed.

"Tell me! Tell me one thing that makes that hovel so wonderful. There isn't anything!"

Harry didn't answer with all of the wonderful things about the Burrow, but he thought of them exclusively: the way you could smell bacon cooking throughout the entire house, how everyone was so tightly seated at the dining room table, how cozy and cluttered it all was—it was the only place outside of Hogwarts that had ever felt like home to him, and the only place where nearly nothing horrible had happened to him. He knew that Draco wouldn't understand any of this, or even worse he would understand it but not in the way Harry needed him to. He would never see how any of these things added to the perfection of the Burrow rather than detracted from it.

"You'll see when we get to the Manor. It's much better than the Weasley's dirt clod."

"Do me a favor," Harry said.

"What?"

"The next time you think of something to say about the Weasley's or their house or anything else like that—keep it to yourself."

"Merlin, you're feeling mighty bitchy today." Harry clenched his fists. He could do this. He was not going to respond to that pissant little comment which would only lead to a blowout fight. He could do this.

Harry turned tight on his seat, rising up to his knees to loom over his boyfriend.

"_I'm_ being bitchy? _I'm being BITCHY_??? _You_, you little high and mighty jerkwad, _you_ are being bitchy!" Harry shouted. Draco had pressed himself completely against the door in fright at the sudden, unexpected outburst, and his voice was first to recover.

"What the fuck!"

"What the fuck indeed! I'm not going to see them all for two whole weeks thanks to you, and you have the audacity to fucking rush my goodbyes and mouth off like a jealous little git? I'm doing you a favor, Blondie! I could just as easily have told you to fuck off and spent a pleasant holiday with my family rather than sit around in your fucking _mansion_ with your fucking _parents_ looking at me like a _cockroach_ for two weeks!"

"But I thought you wanted to spend Christmas with me…"

"_I do_! But did you ever think that maybe _you_ could come with _me_ for holiday? Did you ever think that maybe _you_ could be the one to give a little in this relationship?"

"Fuck you—I give all the fucking time!"

"LIKE WHEN?!"

"Like—er…like…" Harry crossed his arms smugly. "Like me hanging out with all your fucking Gryffindork friends!"

"More like _insult_."

"I don't see _you_ hanging out with any of _my_ friends, Mr. Giver."

"_You_ don't hang out with any of your friends! They can barely even be considered friends—more like _connections_."

"Fuck you! It counts!"

They spent one moment glowering at each other, and were then inexplicably linked at the mouth. Draco clamored into Harry's lap, kissing and pulling and touching anywhere his hands could reach as Harry followed suit.

"Goddam you're so fucking hot when you're yelling at me."

"Then I guess we're lucky you're such a catty bitch—I'll never run out of reasons to shout at you." Harry growled against his boyfriend's throat and pushed him to the expansive plush floor.

"Oh fuck yes," Draco moaned, allowing Harry to pin his wrists.

"All right. One more time," said Harry, realizing that he had tried to resist Draco for two weeks and had lasted half an hour.

"What did you say?" Draco asked, confused.

"Oh, er…I said, 'Damn you're fine'!"

"Oh!" Draco said, a huge smile enveloping his face. Harry shook his head in amusement and got back to business. He _would_ resist Draco. Starting right after this.


	4. The Manor

"Let's not get out," said Harry's slouching form.

"Hm, yeah, we need to get out. We can't live in the car." Draco reasoned, redoing his tie.

Harry gave a complaining kind of whining growl and went boneless, sliding to the car floor. Draco leaned forward to look down at his boyfriend, hair jerked sharply upwards by the seat, glasses askew.

"Wow, and people say _I'm_ dramatic. Come on, Boy Wonder, if you can take on You-Know-Who then my parents should be a slice of dessert." Harry smiled at his boyfriend's ever-more-frequently mis-stated idioms.

"Yeah, but I can't dodge behind things around your parents." Harry reasoned. Draco just shook his head and climbed out of the parked car, leaving Harry to follow him.

"I can't hex your parents either." Harry continued, crawling out behind the blonde. "Also—"

"All right, all right, I get it." Draco laughed, shaking the wrinkles out of his cloak.

"I was going to say that, also, I'm not shagging the senses out of Voldemort's only son and heir."

"I should hope not. I have no inclination to share you with Snake, Jr."

Harry laughed and put his arms around the Slytherin in an infrequent embrace.

"Come here, this might be the last chance I get to kiss you." Harry sighed, and pressed his lips gently against Draco's, holding him close.

Draco sank into the kiss, the embrace, loving the heat that radiated off his lover. He could feel Harry's heart beating into his own chest, creating a strange double-beat as the brunette's heart was going much more quickly.

Draco pulled back and eyed his boyfriend, the pale face and tightened body.

"You really are nervous, aren't you?"

Harry smiled sweetly and nodded.

"I don't care even if they _do_ end up hating you, Harry. I'm the one who matters, and I happen to love you to freaking death."

"I have a feeling you'll be singing a different tune when they disown you." Harry said with a wry smirk.

"Well then, I guess you'll be the one financing my shopping sprees."

"Oh God, let's hope it doesn't come to _that_." Harry groaned.

"Come on, sugar daddy, are you ready to get a move on or what?"

Harry turned towards the house for the first time, twisting his mouth around. It didn't look like that much, actually. There was a tall graying stone wall going around the large-ish premises, and a huge black wrought iron gate, but the house as visible through the gate definitely didn't match with Draco's sometimes-sickening pride. Harry wondered if there might be another house somewhere back behind this one that was glorious enough to explain Draco's frequent bouts of pompousness and condescension. It certainly couldn't be this one: a decaying two story Manor of types, with dead vines and an even deader front yard.

"Doesn't look like much. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer spending the holiday at the Burrow? The car's still here. We could probably arrive by dinner time."

Draco looked at him mischievously and smiled his little secretive smile before grabbing Harry's hand and leading him through the elaborate gate. Literally, _through_ the gate. It gave Harry the chills, walking through cold iron, but it was even stranger on the other side.

"What the hell?!" Harry cried out despite himself, straining his neck to look up at the gargantuan Manor—_castle_ more like.

It had to be at least three stories high, made completely of stone, each tier getting more elaborate, rising in spires and statues and other objects placed like knick-knacks permanently settled on a stone mantle piece. To his right stretched magnificent gardens, so that he nearly forgot it was winter, and to the left he could just make out a small pond at the end of a hill.

"Still thinking of staying at the hov…the Burrow?" Draco questioned, choking back his insult in light of Harry's glare.

"I don't know," Harry sighed, and then held his hands open like scales on either side of him. "Your parents….a castle….your parents…"

"Oh shut up, you git. Come on. I can see my parents already."

"Ah, it begins so soon. Well, it sure was swell being your boyfriend. I'm actually surprised we lasted this long. Still, it was a nice go we had, eh? I sure will miss bending you over any available, sturdy object and fu—"

"Hello, hello darling!" Narcissa Malfoy called out as the boys approached within ear shot of the massive front door.

Draco quickened his pace and met his mother halfway to the entrance, embracing happily and staying that way.

"Oh, darling, you look so handsome. It's seems like I haven't seen you in ages."

"Mom, I just saw you in October." Draco laughed, muffled against his mother's shoulder.

Potter arrived on the seen just as Malfoy Senior ambled over. They avoided one another's eyes and instead opted to look over the scenery.

"Um…nice place." Harry said amiably. Lucius settled on grunting non-commitially in lieu of sneering. They were saved from any further conversation (or awkward lack thereof) by Narcissa peeling herself away from her son and latching onto Harry.

"Oh, and Harry, you look gorgeous, as always. Is this cashmere?" she questioned, picking at his new jumper.

"What? Oh, um, I'm not sure." Lucius scoffed at this response, and Harry blushed deeply.

The blonde man suddenly let out a mighty yelp and clutched at his foot, limping around in a painful circle as best he could.

"Oh I'm sorry, dear, was that your foot?" Narcissa asked tightly.

"Harry, Harry my boy, come, let me show you around a little!" Lucius boomed out as if in the theatre and making sure the audience in the very back could hear him. He bolted an arm across Harry's shoulders heavily and dragged the boy towards the Manor.

Narcissa hung back a bit and took her son's arm in order to gossip more discreetly.

"He's looking…_healthy_. So are you. Been getting much…exercise?"

"Mother!"

"What? A mother's not allowed to ask after her son's…health regimen?"

Draco smiled and shook his head before humoring his mother. "We have a very healthy relationship."

"I hope we won't be getting in the way of your work outs, I would hate for you two to get out of shape."

"This is a very strange hope coming from my usually protective mother."

"What? It's not like he's some random boy off the streets--you two love each other. Besides, it says something to my credit to produce a son so shaggable."

"Mom!"

"Oh darling, I'm only playing. But in all seriousness, am I going to have a son-in-law soon?"

"Mom, we're only seventeen!"

"So? I was nearly seventeen when I married your father."

"Yeah, because it was an arranged marriage. People our age don't get married these days."

"Better earlier than later, especially with your…how should I put it…_accident_ _prone_ boyfriend?"

Draco started slightly at the words. He had thought them often enough—it was difficult not to, shagging someone with such a record for almost dying—it was just strange to hear it out loud like that. More real. It sent a jolt of fear through him. No one ever knew how much time they would have together, but dating Harry made this time feel especially jeopardized.

He patted his mother's arm before slipping away to his boyfriend who was currently becoming privy to the entire history behind their coat cabinet. Draco maneuvered his arms around Harry's waist fondly and rested his chin on the boy's shoulder.

"What's up?" Harry murmured out of the corner of his mouth. Draco took in his lover's sex-mussed hair, and squeezed the slim waist.

"Nothing, just being reminded how much I love you by my paranoid mother." But could it really be called paranoia in face of Harry's track record? More like healthy dose of cynicism, realism, understanding of the world and all its unfairness.

"Oh, for God's sakes, I'm not going to drop dead in the foyer—now stop manhandling me in front of your dad."

Draco chuckled and pecked the back of Harry's neck before letting him loose. His dad did look pretty miffed.

XXX

"You need to calm down before I beat you to death!" Narcissa hissed to her husband once she got him more-or-less alone.

"Why do they have to keep groping each other?! I'd be calm if they stayed on opposite sides of the room!"

"You're boring them out of their heads! They have to do something to amuse themselves!"

"I'm being freaking hospitable, woman! It was your suggestion."

"I told you to show him around—not give him the life story of our chinaware."

"Well I'm sorry! I thought it was a diverting tale!"

"Your ancestors forged them out of Gypsy kaolinite and smuggled them past looters—how do you manage to make that story last half an hour?"

"Well you're glossing over all of the dialogue!"

"Because nobody cares that your great-grandmother called your great uncle Phillias a rabid mongrel mongerer!"

Lucius crossed his arms huffily and began to sulk. "You don't know that."

"Just let them go to their room and rest up for dinner where you will undoubtedly fry their brains with even more completely useless Malfoy trivia."

"Oh whatever. You two! Get off of each other and get over here!" Lucius fairly shouted.

The boys had taken a seat on what Harry deemed to be the most elegant and most uncomfortable couch he had ever had the displeasure of sitting on. Still, having his boyfriend sitting practically on top of him and stroking his hair back with the blunt edges of his nails had gone a long way towards making it seem worth it. They got up reluctantly to say the least.

"If he has another story regarding Troll hunting I'm out of here." Harry said through clenched teeth.

"At least he's _trying_ to be nice."

"If this is trying to be nice then I'd hate to see him angry."

"He's tried to murder you—I'm pretty sure _that_ was him angry."

"It seems pretty merciful in light of this. At least the Avada Kedavra is _quick_."

By now they reached Lucius and his wife. Harry thought that pretty much summed up Malfoy Manor—he could have entire conversations in the time it took to pass through a room.

Narcissa eyed Lucius like an owl eyeing a mouse, and so he plastered on an eerie grin over his scowl and put his hands together so he wouldn't be tempted to smack either of the boys.

"Okay, I guess that that's enough history for one evening. Why don't I show you to your room, Potter, and you can get cleaned up for dinner, eh?"

Draco looked at his boyfriend as if his father had just said they would be living in opposite wings of the Manor for holiday, and would be forbidden from fraternizing. Namely, he looked like he wasn't going to get any for two whole weeks, a feat he knew he wasn't up for.

"But Dad!" Draco started, and then scrabbled for words, unsure of how to continue. He knew he couldn't shout, "But how am I going to get shagged regularly if Harry's not spending the night with me?" although that was all he felt like shouting.

"What?" Lucius asked harshly, his reserve cracking. His son should not be looking at another boy that way! That sort of desperate glint, that obvious _care_—it was very un-Malfoyish.

"I think what Draco is trying to say, _dear_, is that he and Harry were planning on sharing Draco's room. Remember? _We discussed this_." Harry couldn't help but find Narcissa's way of speaking a little like a snarl bundled up in fluff. It was a dangerous tone of voice honeyed over.

"I don't recall." Lucius said, choosing to feign ignorace. Harry flinched for him, as he was obviously too out of his senses to do it for himself.

"_You_ said 'Where are they going to sleep'? and _I_ said 'In Draco's room'. Is this ringing any bells?"

"I can't say that it is. I personally think it's highly inappropriate for them to sleep together."

"You're not going to be getting the chance to think much when I hex you into unconsciousness," said Narcissa sweetly. "Take your pick. Two weeks of stupor or two weeks of staying out of Draco's business."

"It's my business if it's happening in my own house!" Lucius bawked, which Harry thought was a reasonable argument. He looked to Narcissa, waiting for the next volley, but instead the lean woman raised her wand.

"Okay, Okay! You can sleep in the same room. But I'm bringing up a cot from the House Elves' quarters." Narcissa raised her wand higher. "Fine! Sleep together! Why would I care—I'm only your freaking father! Why in wizardry would it bother me to have to random vagabond screwing my only heir every night—and under my roof no less!" Lucius cried in a fervor and Apparated away in a dramatic flourish of robes.

Harry didn't think he could blush any deeper without getting a blood infusion.

"Wow." Draco murmured.

"Oh you know how Daddy is. He'll get over it in no time at all. Especially with a well-placed Obliviate…" Narcissa murmured nearly to herself. There was an awkward silence in which Narcissa looked very much as if she was plotting something horrendous. Harry was very familiar with that look.

"Okay…" Draco began, giving Harry a worried glance. "Um, well, we're going to go up to my room now. Okay, Mom? _Mom_?" asked Draco. Narcissa nodded absently, and then wandered out of the room, muttering something about an ambush.

"Do I even need to tell you how scary your parents are?" Harry questioned.

"Not really."

XXXXX

I was going to make this longer, and failed. Miffed at my inability to write more than five pages at a time? Yell at me via Review! That's half of what it's there for kind of in a way.


	5. Drugged But Happy, For Once

"Are you ready to have your mind blown?" Draco asked dramatically with his back to the black double doors of his room. He gripped the brass knobs behind him, readying himself for the flurry of action he would impress Harry with.

"I'm ready to have _something_ blown." Harry replied cheekily.

"Haaarrrryyy—pay attention! I'm being dramatic!" Draco whined.

"You're _always_ being dramatic."

"_Harry Potter_." Draco growled dangerously, and Harry straightened up automatically.

"Okay, okay, I'm paying attention. Wow me with your mystical wonders."

Draco smiled happily now that the entirety of Harry's attention was focused on him and threw open the doors with a flourish, shouting "Ta-da!" as he used to do as a child.

Instead of turning to see his own room, he watched the progress on Harry's face. There was bemusement—op, it was gone, ah, here was flabbergasted surprise, eyes wide, mouth slack, and now disbelief—a faint shake of the head in order to jump-start his brain. And now he was capable of speech again.

"What the fuck?! This is not your room!"

"Hey, is too!" Draco turned to make sure—he was in the right wing of the house, wasn't he?

Yes, there were his luminous vaulted ceilings, the pale white and green curtain hangings, his matching settees, lamps,mirrors, marble fireplace, cherry oak bed frame—it was all there.

"This…this has got to be bigger than the entire Gryffindor lounge!" Harry said in disbelief, walking in past the blonde.

"Probably. But isn't it so much nicer? Look at the curtains, Harry, just look at them! They're so gorgeous! And check out my awesome bed—isn't it awesome?"

"It's fucking ginormous—how am I supposed to find you in it?"

"I don't know, let's practice. Turn out the lights and try to find me."

Harry turned and grinned sarcastically at the Slytherin. "We haven't the time. I'll just have to wing it tonight I guess." Harry said, and then remembered that his boyfriend was off-limits for two weeks.

_Stop flirting with him! _Harry demanded of himself, but it was a difficult program to switch off. He had been learning how to flirt with the blonde for—Merlin could it really be seven months? In any case, he had been doing it for so long now that flirting really did make up the brunt of their conversations these days.

"Come lie down then, just for a sec. It's glorious." Draco said, jumping onto his bed and flopping down in the middle.

"I don't want to mess it up…" Harry murmured. He winced, knowing what would come next—he had made this mistake before.

"You're not going to mess anything up just by touching it, Potter! Your stupid fucking Muggle relatives and their stupid brainwashing! It's a good thing you won't tell me where they live! I've got half a mind to Legimens it out of you and give those filthy Muggles what's coming to them!" Draco raged.

"Oh, you're right, your bed is so wonderful! Wow—tell me more about your…er…bed." Harry said, lying down carefully. Malfoy gave him a sour look and then cuddled up beside the Gryffindor.

Harry realized that they very rarely lie down in bed together without sex being involved. They had fallen asleep together on the Gryffindor couch once, but that was really as close as they had come. With the blonde pressed up close to him, head resting on his shoulder, fingers running lazy lines over his collarbone, Harry had to wonder why they didn't make this an everyday practice.

"I guess you're pretty upset right now. Over how my father reacted…" Draco murmured softly.

"Don't worry about me and your father. I can take care of myself."

"I like how _before_ you go into battle you're so nervous, but once you're _in_ it you're positively stoic." Draco chuckled.

"I guess it's something I have practice with." Harry wanted to kick himself in the head as Draco stiffened beside him. How did he always manage to fuck up pleasant conversations with near-death references? Then again how could you repeatedly be almost-murdered and not have it affect your life? Your conversations, your relationships, your blurted comments?

"Wow, did I just kill the mood or what?" Harry laughed nervously, and then wondered if he shouldn't have used the word "kill". "What say we get ready for dinner, eh?"

Harry rushed to get up and looked around until he found his luggage stowed away in the walk in closet. It was somehow eerie to think that the house elves had probably stowed it there.

"Jesus, your closet must be as big as my room!" Harry shouted. "Hey, just how dressed up should I be getting?"

He turned towards the bedroom just in time to see Draco pounce on him.

The blonde's force knocked him backwards into a long row of dress robes, but Draco didn't seem to notice. He mouthed and groped and mauled his boyfriend. It was such an intense, focused attack on his senses, that Harry could only minimally dwell on reason, what with smooth hands moving up his chest, his back, everywhere. He groaned, tilting his head back into black satin and velvet and cotton, allowing Draco access to his exposed throat.

He was jolted back to his senses as he realized that Draco was struggling with ripping off his belt.

"Draco—Draco, we can't." Harry panted.

"Then you shouldn't have antagonized me!" Draco growled.

Harry moaned aloud as Draco's fussing hands ran over his hardening length—by accident? Harry doubted it.

"If you don't stop it right now I'm going to embarrass you publicly." Harry moaned. It was a low tactic he had used often when they were first…what? First fucking? First together? Draco's hands went still, but only for a moment.

"How public?" Draco asked slowly, fingering Harry's exposed hipbones.

"Great Hall public." Harry replied firmly, and watched the Slytherin blanch.

"Our status is already public. You can't do anything to me." Draco said, but he didn't sound sure.

"You assume that just because I'm dating you I won't embarrass you in front of hundreds? I think you're forgetting who was nearly put in Slytherin."

"Yeah, but…only _nearly_."

"Just nearly enough to allow my conscience no distress over humiliating you." Harry replied disinterestedly, looking over his nails as Draco sometimes did when he wanted to be particularly annoying as he argued.

Draco changed tactics, and put on his saddest face.

"But…I don't understand…Don't you want me anymore? Is it because of how my dad acted?" That got him. Harry straightened up automatically, and had that manically apologetic look in his eyes.

"No, Draco! That's not it, I swear!"

Draco allowed his lower lip to tremble, but not too much—Harry didn't respond well to overdoing it. He sniffled slightly and wiped an eye, ducking his face away.

"It's okay, Harry. You don't have to lie to me. I can—I can take it!" Draco bawled and hid his face in the crook of his elbow, shaking his shoulders.

"Oh, Draco…" Harry sighed, rubbing the boy's back and taking him into those long dark arms. "Don't cry just because you've finally realized what a crummy actor you are…"

"Hey!" Draco shouted, affronted. Damn, the little git had gotten him. He stopped pretending, and started to really pout.

"Come on, faker. If we survive this holiday I promise to show you exactly how much I still want you—over and over and _over_ again." Harry said, ruffling Draco's hair. Draco smiled happily. Then he realized that Harry had touched his hair. Not just _touched_. _Ruffled_. _Messed_ _up_. But it had felt so nice, so endearing, so sweet, that Draco didn't curse the boy's hands off. Instead he tried to plan something to say later to get Harry to do it again.

_Is that good or bad? _Draco wondered. But then Harry took off his jumper and Draco was no longer capable of thought.

XXX

"You're sure I'm not overdressed?" Harry hissed outside the wooden monstrosities this Manor called doors.

"You're just as dressed as I am, Potter. Shut up about it!" Draco replied, straightening his boyfriend's tie.

"I don't know. I feel awfully dressed up. It's only dinner, right?"

"Yes, but Sunday dinners are formal dinners."

"This feels a bit dressy even for Sunday formal dinners."

"Take a deep breath." Draco suggested consolingly, and Harry did. "Okay, now either hold it until you pass out, or shut up about how dressy you feel!"

"You jerk—I thought you were serious!" Harry growled, letting out his breath.

"I was serious! No more talking, I'm opening the doors now."

"Don't! I'm not ready!" but it was too late. Draco shoved open the doors and shoved in his boyfriend.

It's just that Draco hadn't quite expected his father to be standing _right there_.

"Haaarrrryyyy!!!" Lucius squealed, catching the boy clumsily. Draco's head cocked. This was not how he would have supposed his father to react to Harry Potter falling into his clutches. "Ooohhhh, you look niiiicccce."

Harry straightened up in Lucius' arms, eyeing his boyfriend in terror.

_Get your dad OFF of me, _those eyes clearly said.

But Draco was enjoying the show.

Lucius pushed Harry back at arms length, eyes looking glossy but happy.

"Awww, look at your poofy hair! How adorable! I used you have a dog when I was a boy, and he had poofy hair, too! His name was Ruffy. I'm going to call you Ruffy!" Lucius said happily, ruffling Harry's ink-black locks beneath heavy hands. "Cute, cute, cute!"

Narcissa sidled up lazily to her son.  
"What _the fuck_ is up with Dad?" Draco hissed.

"Apparently you shouldn't mix high-powered Obliviates with a Cheering Charm and alcohol." Narcissa said, as if mentioning her secret for staying cool in hot weather. She shrugged off Draco's horrified look with a languid, "Who knew?" and then sidled off towards the dining room table.

"What _the fuck_ is up with your dad?!" Harry hissed, hair sticking straight up in places, and glasses skewed.

"My mom apparently drugged him. Where did he go?"

"I convinced him to go draw me a picture of Ruffy. For comparison purposes."

"Awww, smart puppy! Smart little Ruffy!"

"_Shut up_."

AN: Well, not as long as I was hoping, but longer than usual, right??? Please review. It's the only thing that keeps be going from one day to the next. Well, that and Thanks-G. Did you know you can also write suggestions on the review board? Well you can! Don't believe me? Give it a go!


	6. Romance

Harry stared down at his silverware. He had never seen so many forks in one place in his life. Were they really all necessary? How on earth could they be? Who needed a different fork for each dish? Damn, and they were all different sizes, too. That didn't bode well.

He raised his eyes to his boyfriend, trying to catch his attention. It was no use. Draco was too busy shouting across the table to his mother, explaining the logistics of his recent potions coursework.

Harry had been disconcerted upon entering the dining room, and not just because Lord Malfoy had randomly started copping feels. Not only was the dining room itself enormous, but the thin table spanned nearly the entire room. It looked as if it were built with the Weasleys and their entire extended family in mind rather than the measly population of Malfoys. Although there were only four chairs at the table, it was obvious that it could have fit a hundred.

The Gryffindor was sure that if Lucius were in his right mind he would be giving a speech on the history of the wrought-iron chandeliers, the mahogany dining room table, the black satin-cusioned chairs. He thought that he would prefer this speech to the one that was being shouted at him from the far-away head of the table.

"Ruffy had black hair, too! But he didn't have green eyes! He had brown eyes! Would you consider changing your eye color? If someone offered you a hundred galleons to change your eye color, would you? I wouldn't! I like my eyes! They're blue! Can you see them?" was mixed in with Draco's shouted conversation about simpunspruce being better sliced than chopped. It was giving Harry a raging headache. He gave a sigh and moved his glasses onto the top of his head, pushing the balls of his palms into his eye sockets to relieve the ache. Or at least focus it in his eyeballs rather than his entire brain.

"Harry, baby, are you okay?" Draco asked with some concern. Although the table was impossibly long, it was rather narrow, so by leaning and reaching, the blonde was able to run his knuckles comfortingly across Harry's arm.

"I have a headache. Do you guys really have to yell so much? Why don't you just get a smaller table? Or an intercom?"

"A what?" But Harry just shook his head, wincing as his headache protested such movement. "Oh, poor baby.You should lie down after diner's through."

"Also, what are all these forks fo—"

"Harry!" Lucius shouted, but this time Lucius was exactly two feet from Harry's head, making the boy jump and cringe at the same time.

"Dad! Stop shouting at him!" Draco yelled.

"Lucius! Go sit back down!" Narcissa screamed.

Harry put his forehead down on the table and groaned, covering his head with his arms.

"Stop messing with my boyfriend! Go sit back down!"

"Haaarrrryyyy…Harry! Wake up Harry! I just remembered what I was going to ask you! I was just thinking, there was something I wanted to ask that cute little puppy-haired boy-lover—and then I remembered!"

"For the love of all that is holy—just ask me and stop yelling!" Harry groaned from under his arms.

"Okay, okay, here it is….um….oh yeah! What are your intentions towards my son?" Lucius asked it with the aplomb and aloofness of Alex Trebek, but Alex never got this kind of reaction.

Harry jerked bolt upright and stared at his boyfriend as if staring into two headlights on the highway.

_Fuck_. Harry thought first. And then he was glad that had not come out of his mouth in light of this question.

XXX

"Oh God, Harry! You were brilliant!" Draco laughed hysterically as they collapsed into his room. Thinking of the subject of Draco's laughter, Harry felt sickly and weak, but he laughed anyway. In the glow of Draco's praise, Harry was beginning to feel better.

Harry hadn't actually known what was going to come out of his mouth when he opened it to reply to Lucius' awkward question, but it had ended well enough.  
"I just want to make Draco happy," Harry had murmured jiltedly, which was true enough although Harry hadn't thought of it beforehand.

To this Lucius had let out a long squeal of delight and said, "That is sooooo romantic!!!!!!!" before throwing his arms around the brunette.

Harry blushed remembering it and fell onto the bed as Draco went into his grandiose bathroom to start his bedtime routine of lotions, cleansers, bases, and exfoliates. Harry had once envied the blonde his fair skin, but had stopped soon after discovering how much work the Slytherin did to maintain it.

The Gryffindor watched his boyfriend wiping his face with a sudsy pad in anti-clockwise motions, and drew himself inwards so that he was curled into the rectangle of light coming from the bathroom.

He hadn't thought of it, just as he hadn't thought of the fact that he loved Draco before his parents forced him to, but Harry really did just want to see Draco happy. In fact, it was his weak point. Any time Draco wanted to get something out of the boy, he only had to say that it would make him happy, and Harry was usually half-about getting it by time he finished his sentence. Harry lay there and imagined what he wouldn't do to maintain Draco's happiness. He couldn't come up with much; only that he wouldn't kill Terry Boot, although Draco complained about the boy anytime he was mentioned, and sometimes when he wasn't. Apparently Boot had insulted Draco's wardrobe in a fit of anger once in second year, and Draco had still not forgiven him. This was the main reason that Harry had decided to put off telling his boyfriend that he thought Draco's dress robes made him look like a vicar—indefinitely. Draco could hold a grudge like nobody's business, which was why Harry had been so surprised (and suspicious) when the blonde approached him back in the spring.

"What are you looking so pensive about, boy-lover?" Draco teased as he exited the bathroom, patting (_not_ rubbing) his face dry.

"Let's get married." Harry blurted, but didn't take it back. He simply looked up at his boyfriend, reaching out to finger the silken border of his loosely-tied robe.

Draco was taken back for exactly one moment, and then broke into a smile.

"Sure thing. But you're wearing the dress." Harry laughed easily, and Draco continued. "Severus can walk me down the aisle."

"His honorable Mad-Eye Moody presiding."

"Oh, no! Not him! 'Do you, Harry, take this albino ferret to be your lawfully wedded woodland creature'?"

Harry grabbed his boyfriend around the waist and pulled him onto the bed easily—he was such a slight little thing.

"I'm going to make you the happiest ferret in the forest." Harry promised, kissing Draco soundly.

"Awww—you already have."

They lie there talking for a small while before exhaustion took hold and they clamored into bed.

"What are those?" Draco questioned as Harry put on his pajamas.

"Um, my pajamas?"

"You don't wear pajamas! I thought you slept…you know, minus clothing."

"Um, _no_. You think I just hang out naked in front of all my roommates?"

"You better not!"

"I don't! I only sleep naked with you because _we_ only sleep together when…well when we are doing actions that require a lack of clothing."

"When we fuck."

"...I thought you Malfoys were all about tact and aplomb? Are you the only one with a tenacity for crudeness?"

"Yep. Lucky you."

"Why lucky me?"

"How would you get a tactful and…_aplombful_ Malfoy to talk dirty to you in the sack?"

"Hey! Not so loud!"

"Who's going to hear us?" Draco laughed.

"Your father has eyes and ears all over this castle." Harry half-joked, eyeing the room mock-suspiciously.

"Oh come here you Gryffindork."

Harry obediently climbed into bed and Draco turned out the lights. It felt strange lying there in the dark without doing anything…productive. There were a few moments of rustling, and then Draco's arms slid around his T-shirted waist.

"Sorry, it took me a while to get over here across the vast expanse of my bed." Draco fake-panted.

"Oh shut up." Harry laughed.

"Goodnight, Harry Malfoy."

"That sounds like a disgusting part of someone's anatomy. Why can't you be Draco Potter?"

"That's _much_ too plebian."

"Draco Potter-Malfoy?"

"Hey, how come your name gets to go first?"

"Fine by me. Draco Malfoy-Potter?"

"Harry Malfoy-Potter."

"I still think it sounds gross."

"We'll figure something out. The wedding is _weeks_ away. We've got plenty of time." The boys laughed quietly, and Harry realized they had been whispering as if there really were someone to hear their idle fantasies. He was glad, still, for their quietness—it felt nice to have another secret shared between themselves, away from Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, away from everyone.

Harry pet back his boyfriend's hair and slowly drifted happily off to sleep. This whole Malfoy Manor thing wasn't so bad.

XXX

A/N: Yo! Long enough? Not? I tried! Please review--it's the only way I improve...or something.


	7. Trouble

"What the fuck is up with you?" Draco growled, shoving his boyfriend hard into the billiards-room wall.

"What? What are you talking about?" Harry murmured, feigning ignorance. It hadn't been a good idea when Lucius did it, and it wasn't a good idea now. But gods, having the blonde pressed up so close to him, and with these torpid thoughts boiling inside of him with no release—it was enough to drive anyone dumb.

"You! Why the fuck did you just bail on me—right as it was getting good, too! You've been doing it all day—and all day yesterday, too! The moment things get going, you go and get a headache, or remember a letter you have to write, or suddenly have to learn how to play billiards! What the fuck is wrong with you?! Don't you…" Draco refused to finish his sentence, but Harry heard it as if he had shouted it in his ear.

_Don't you want me anymore?_

The hurt and angry burn in Draco's eyes was enough to make Harry drop his composure. It was no use. He'd have to tell the blonde. He had desperately wanted to keep it to himself, knowing that Draco would only think it was stupid, but he couldn't hurt the boy like this.

"Draco…there's…there's something I need to tell you." Harry sighed, setting his hands consolingly on Draco's arms.

"Oh my God, you've got syphilis." Draco gasped.

"What?! How in the fuck would I get syphilis?!"

"Well I told you to stop hanging out with that Weasley girl." Draco sniffed.

"Sit down and shut up." Harry growled.

The blonde sauntered slowly over to the settee, and sat down primly, as if he had just chanced by and happened to want to get off his feet. Harry shook his head, smiling. That boy was just like a prideful cat—no, even worse, he was a prideful Malfoy. Harry took a seat beside him and started, nervously.

"The reason I haven't…haven't let anything get too…far, _go_ too far is…well…Ifeelweirdfuckingyouinyourfather'shouse." There was a long pause in which Draco translated that into normal speech patterns.

"…You mean you can't get it up?"

"No! Believe me, getting it up has been the _least _of my problems these last couple celibate days."

"You just won't fuck me."

"It feels bizarre, as if at any minute he'll walk through on a tour of the rooms or something. I mean you're his son and it's his house…I'd just feel strange drilling you into the bed you used to cuddle stuffed animals in."

"My mother told you about that?!"

"Told me what?"

"…Nothing. Please, continue."

"I hope you're not mad. But I just can't have sex with you here…it feels too disrespectful. Lord knows your father has shown how much he disapproves of me just sleeping with you—imagine how he'd react if he found out I were doing…_that_ to you."

Harry braced himself for the shouting: This isn't fair, How dare you decide when and where I get to have sex, Who care's if my dad hates it—it's my body!

But none came.

Harry chanced a glance upwards from the floor, and saw Draco struggling to hold in a laugh, biting his knuckle.

"…What, exactly, is so funny?" Harry asked dangerously. Draco opened his mouth to reply, but only peals of laughter emerged.

"Oh, Harry! You're just so _funny_! As if you could manage to not pounce me for _two_ _weeks_."

"Excuse me? I've managed these last two days."

"Yeah, well, my powers of seduction were not what they should have been. You've softened my seductive edge with all this willing lovemaking. Fine, we'll go back to how it was in the beginning. I'm going to make you want me so bad your bones will ache." Draco purred into the shell of Harry's ear, and then left him there, clutching the satin cushions in an animal heat.

"Oh God, I should have never told him." Harry sighed on a painful out-breath.

XXX

Lucius glowered into the fire of his study, swilling his brandy absent-mindedly.

Things were not going well for the man. First his wife druged him, then he acted a fool in front of that asinine boy. Now he had to watch his son and that same boy regularly giving each other eyes at ever chance, holding hands, petting—lord only knew what they did when he _wasn't_ around.

It was that Gryffindor's fault, he knew it. Draco had never been this free with himself before that boy came along. He had always been such a reserved, obedient boy—sure he had a temper and was prone to making clichéd threats, but at least he had the occasional evildoing and witty insults. Now what did he have? His wit had turned to innuendos, his evildoing energy was all spent cuddling, or _worse_.

Lucius gave an involuntary shudder.

It simply wouldn't do. No son of his was going to turn into a sappy Hufflepuff giving bedroom eyes at undeserving hooligans. Draco just needed a suitable replacement. There was always that Zabini boy. Lucius knew that they had had a tryst over the summer, and although it was a paltry thing, these sorts of weak flames could always be built up given the proper fuel. The Zabini boy was attractive, conniving, sly, sneaky—Slytherin, in a word. He was perfect. Draco would be challenged back into his old Slytherin ways, and Lucius wouldn't have to conceal a blush every time Draco and his lover entered a room.

Lucius drank down the rest of his brandy, rubbed his hands together menacingly, and got to work.

XXX

"Here, Harry, let me help." Draco purred, and straightened the boy's collar from behind, eyeing him lustfully in the mirror. Harry knew it was only a ploy to press against him, to whisper his fingers over his throat and chest, to breathe coolly against the back of his neck—all of the tried and true ways to drive him out of his head with lust. It had worked when they had first started up together, and it was working now. His entire body felt on fire with lust, and he knew the only salve to cool the burn.

He just couldn't have it.

Harry wondered if he could die from lack of sex. If his current state were any sign, he gave himself three more days under this assault before he either gave in or dropped dead. And that was only if Draco limited himself to his current tactics—which Harry knew from previous experience he wouldn't.

_I should write Ron and Hermoine a goodbye note, because as soon as I get into bed tonight, I'm done for._ Harry thought morbidly.

Maybe a cold shower would help. Very cold. But that would have to wait until after lunch.

Harry headed stiffly to the dining parlor, a strange room he had never witnessed in any other environment. There was the dining room, for formal occasions, the breakfast nook, for breakfasts, the sitting room, for tea, and the dining parlor, for conspicuous lunches.

The table was smaller but just as narrow, a strange feature to all the Malfoy furniture. It seated maybe eight or ten, although there were only ever four chairs as far as he could tell. There was a fireplace, as in almost every room, wide tall windows overlooking the gardens, and too many couches, all in floral print.

As soon as he sat, in his accustomed position across from his boyfriend, he could tell he was in for it. That dangerous glint in the boy's clear gray eyes never boded well. Still, it was halfway through lunch when Draco made his move, just as Harry had forgotten that there was a move to expect.

He jolted at the shoeless ball of a foot moving up his calf, dropping his fork. He jerked his eyes to his boyfriends—lazy and hooded, teasing and sultry.

_Don't, _he tried to convey with his eyes. Draco only smiled.

"Got a…shiver, Harry?" Draco drawled. Harry glared and set his fork back down, careful not to let his hand shake, and scooted his chair closer to the table, unwilling for Narcissa or (heaven forbid) Lucius to see exactly what Draco's libido was capable of when challenged.

Harry quickly lost track of the conversation, focusing instead on the lazy stroll Draco's foot was taking up and down his calf, nearly groaning when it finally breeched his knee and slid easily up a thigh.

"Harry, dear, are you feeling all right? You look a bit peaked." Narcissa said with concern. Harry let go of his vice grip on the table's edge and took a shaky glass of water to his parched mouth.

"I'm fi-ine. I'm fine." Harry gasped as Draco lost his leisurely pretense and forged on to the crook of Harry's wishbone legs. It was too late to escape now; he would never get out of here without the entire family knowing what excitement Draco was capable of eliciting from him—he was both proud and angry that his erection would be too noticeable.

Harry had hoped that it wouldn't come to this, but it was obvious that Draco had left him no alternatives. The only thing left to do was to fight fire with fire. This tactic worked especially well with Draco because of the boy's easy self-centeredness. His own pleasure soon took importance over all other tasks. Harry had learned long ago that there was no mutual anything when it came to Draco and sex, unless the blonde was prepared to deeply concentrate past his own satisfaction. Harry was willing to bet that Draco didn't have enough concentration left over from not getting caught to apply towards seeing to Harry, especially when under the same torture himself.

Harry slipped off a shoe discreetly, and skipping all the foreplay, going for the surprise attack instead, pushed the ball of his foot quickly but gently against Draco's own hard length.

"Ah!" Draco called out, jerking out of his slouch. Harry smiled devilishly at Draco's shocked features, and lowered his aim, groping at the bollocks. Draco gasped out the breath he had been holding, and sure enough, his own foot's torturous pressure faltered.

"Draco!" Narcissa called out in worry, and Draco seemed to come back to the realization that his parents were right there.

"Oh…stomach cramps!" Draco gritted out, Harry's foot and toes pulsating against his balls.

"I feel fine." Lucius murmured, moving his fish around on his place suspiciously.

"Well I just don't trust the meal at all. I'm going talk to Cook." Narcissa said with worry, tossing her napkin over her meal.

"Oh now don't get yourself in a tiff. You'll only have another row with her, and then we'll be back in that dreadful salmon bisque fiasco all over again," Lucius said, and followed his wife from the room.

Before the door was even shut Draco jumped up and scrambled across the table, shoving foot and dishware out of his path.

Harry threw his chair back in time to catch the Slytherin in his lap, groping and attacking with hands and mouth like he'd gone without for years rather than days.

"Oh God, Oh God, I'm so hard." Draco moaned low and soft in his throat, pushing the palm of Harry's hand into his lap as if the Gryffindor had asked for proof.

Harry groaned loudly, biting and sucking at the base of the long, lean neck, wanting to tear and to leave marks as he had when they first made love.

"Please, please, Harry, please." Draco panted in an earnest litany. "Please fuck me."

Harry shook his head, and Draco let out a high whine of pure disappointment and suffering.

"I'm not going to," Harry said half-heartedly. "But…" and he unhooked the belt synching Draco's waist, much to the blonde's very vocal delight. Draco groped for Harry's belt, and they pulled each other free from their trousers together, sighing and moaning with what they had been waiting days for.

Draco was quickly overpowered by the hot vice of Harry's pitiless grip, and only came back to the world when that hand suddenly slowed.

"Ah—Harry!" he complained.

"If you're going to slow down, then so am I!" Harry grit out, and Draco remembered to keep his hand going. He stared deeply into those clouded greed eyes, drunk on the fact that he was the only one to have seen Harry this way. He would be the only one for always.

"Keep them open," whispered Draco as the long sooty eyelashes fluttered, and Harry struggled to carry out his request.

Their hands quickened, tightened, and even Draco's eyes fluttered shut, mouth working silently except for a few escaping gasps and moans. He could hear his own blood rushing in his ears, but above that he could hear Harry's tumultuous breathing, and he even imagined he could hear his lover's heartbeat, although if he were in his right mind he would have realized that it was his own he heard.

Draco jolted as Harry's hips jerked strongly, and his hand faltered as he came strong and wet across Draco's hands and stomach. Draco, feeling this in his hands, hearing Harry's groaning, creaking orgasm, soon followed.

Cleaned off with a quick Scourgify, Draco collapsed against his boyfriend, spent. When he regained his breath he murmured smugly against Harry's shoulder, "Not going to have sex with me, eh?"

"That wasn't sex. That was a handjob. A very, very thorough handjob." Harry replied. Draco pulled back off his chest, staring at him incredulously.

"You sneaky little Slytherin, you," he growled teasingly, and Harry smiled that amazingly shagged-out smile that always made Draco's heart leap.

"Oh well, what can you do? Now come on, leave off me before your parents get back and I'm locked in the dungeons."

"So what else doesn't count as sex? Come on, I want to know. Oral sex doesn't count as sex, right, even if it's in the title? It doesn't right? And I don't think that _homosexual_ sex should count, either. It's really called sodomy, you know, not sex at all."

"Oh my god, I've opened Pandora's box." Harry groaned, pushing the blonde off of his tingling legs.

"Who's box? Where?"

XXX

A/N: Okay, I'm going on vacation for a few days, so this better hold you guys over for a while—long and smutty! But how smutty? Think I overdid it? Think I underdid it? That's what my freaking review board is for!!!


	8. Plotting aka What a Slytherin Does Best

"I was thinking of inviting Blaise Zabini to our Christmas party," Lucius said casually.

Narcissa scoffed, too interested in her knitting to worry over appearances, especially in front of her husband of twenty years.

"Why on Earth would you do that?" She asked distractedly. When the Malfoys were first at odds with the law, and the wizarding community, after the first fall of the Dark Lord, their barristers had suggested that Narcissa pick up knitting, to make her seem more approachable, motherly. That was sixteen years ago, and she still hadn't quite gotten a knack for the task. Still, she enjoyed the challenge, and it gave her something to do on boring days.

"I thought he and Draco were good friends. They were together constantly over the summer." Lucius said, affronted. He didn't think his Draco/Blaise Plan was anything to scoff at.

"Well, maybe they _used_ to be a bit chummy, but that was because Blaise was trying very hard to get your son into the sack at the time."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Narcissa set down her knitting and looked at her husband humorously.

"It _means_ that that boy was doing everything short of rape to bag him. Of course now that Harry's come along, all of _that's_ over with."

"How do you mean?"

"Oh God, you are _so_ out of the loop. Here, I'll start at the beginning, _okay dear_? So Blaise had been trying to bag Draco since third year, but all Draco could ever talk about was revenge plots against Harry. So, one day last winter, Blaise had had enough. 'If you're that obsessed with that bespectacled freak, then fuck him already and get it over with!' Pardon my French. So, Draco, feeling a bit put up to it, propositions Harry. Voila, they're together. Blaise was a bit _mocking_ in their physical relationship over the summer, and Draco was a _bit_ too persuasive in his praise of all things Harry, and now Blaise has a crush on Draco's boyfriend, although for what I feel may be slightly more lecherous reasons than Draco. Actually, this is probably what pushed Draco into making his and Harry's relationship more than sexual. He wanted to make sure Blaise couldn't separate them with a few well-placed flirty smiles." Narcissa took a deep breath, and got back to her knitting, ignoring Lucius's stricken features.

"So Blaise doesn't like Draco anymore?"

"Oh I wouldn't say that. He'd just rather have Harry. Personally, I think he may just be trying to get back at Draco for putting him on for three years."

"Blaise wants Harry."

"In a nutshell."

"And Draco knows this?"

"Are you kidding? Why do you think he never lets Harry hang out with his Slytherin friends? The only thing they ever did in those dungeons was shag—everything else took place as far away from Blaise as Draco could get."

"Why even shag in the Slytherin dungeons? Blaise shares that dorm with him. Surely he could…well, hear, see…"

"You know how Draco is. I think he wanted to flaunt it a bit. Make Blaise jealous. Plus, Harry absolutely refused to shag in the same room as all his friends. Draco's not as considerate—he couldn't care less if he kept his dorm-mates up all night."

"Hey! Our son is plenty considerate!"

"Don't be silly dear. Draco's a Slytherin—of course he's not considerate. Although I think that being with Harry is changing that a bit—did you see him at dinner? When Harry had that headache?"

"_No_. I was _drugged_, _remember_?"

"Oh, that's right. Well, it was adorable in any case."

"I just don't understand…how could Blaise—how could _anyone_ prefer Harry Potter to Draco?"

"Oh don't be so biased, dear. Draco's the one who's been plastering about the school what a great boyfriend Harry is. I'm surprised there's not a waiting list to date Harry after all the advertising Draco's been doing."  
"Like what? He's not rich, he's not even that attractive, he's incredibly naïve and childish, he's a little goody-two-shoes, brown-nosing, wonder boy…" Lucius trailed off at Narcissa's stricken features that slowly morphed into a glare.

"Just because _you_ don't get it! He's romantic, sweet, trust-worthy, unassuming, devoted, honest, gorgeous, great at Quidditch, fucking hero of the wizarding world! You'd do good to take a few lessons from that boy before you find you and your sneaky self sleeping on the chaise lounge!"

"I—I just remembered something I have to see to in my study…away from here…" Lucius murmured, and left before Narcissa could really lay into him.

"It doesn't really matter who ends up with Zabini, so long as one of them does. And if Zabini has a thing for Potter and not my son, all the better. He's obviously mad, not fit for Draco at all, completely lecherous. Better off without him. Potter, though…he can have him. Best to invite him over. Get it all straightened out. No confusion, no mishaps. Only have a week and a half. No time for misconceptions." Lucius muttered to himself all the way to his study, and once there he rattled off a quick note to the young Slytherin, and opened up his floo connection.

Fashionably late as well as fashionable, Zabini stepped out of a roar of green flames half an hour later.

"Mr. Malfoy." He said in his usual slightly flirty tones as he shook soot from his impeccable robes like a preening bird. He swung his dark locks of hair away from his face and swept daintily across the study, conforming himself lovingly to the high-backed chair in front of Lucius' desk. He studied the blonde man from below long sweet lashes, eyes glinting nearly gold in the cold sunlight.

Lucius had an urge to applaud, but stopped himself. It was a pity the boy was no longer interested in Draco—here was a young man Lucius would be happy to call his son-in-law: sultry, sly, wicked and cunning. If Lucius were twenty years younger…but he had to stop this! He had an evil plot to see to, and not much time to see to it in.

"Mr. Zabini." Lucius replied coldly, and Blaise smiled like a sensuous media darling.

"Your letter seemed to have _quite_ a purpose behind it. This…_intrigued_ me. You said there was something I could do for you?"

"Yes, well, I didn't want to say too much in a letter, but, to get straight to the point, there is an urgent matter of business regarding my son."

"And a certain black-haired boyfriend?"

"Precisely."

"And you'd like to turn this boyfriend into an _ex_-boyfriend."

"I'd prefer to turn him into a barely-noticeable blip on my son's lifeline."

"A bad memory easily forgotten."

"I understand that you…no longer feel towards my son," it was hard to say it without bitterness, and Blaise picked up on it, smiling easily.

"Not the sort that would aid in a permanent memory loss. If it was necessary, I could keep him distracted for a short while, but…"

"But you'd rather keep Potter distracted long-term."

"There are many people waiting for a chance at him back at Hogwarts; I wouldn't say no to a bit of a head-start. Get my foot in the door."

"Then it seems to me that we _can_ help one another. I can handle Draco on my own—there's no need for you to get involved there."

"And Harry would respond better to me than to you."

Lucius was slightly taken aback by this. There was something a sixteen year old boy could do better than him? Besides lifting heavy objects and doing the limbo?

"How do you mean?"

"No amount of pressure is going to make Harry break up with your son. He's much too stubborn. Draco would have to be an absolute terror for months before Harry would even consider it. There's no way Harry's going to break up with Draco in two weeks. But you hurt Draco's pride enough, and I'll bet he'd break up with Boy Wonder purely out of spite. You push on Draco's pride, and I'll push on Harry's temper, and we'll have our job done before the New Year."

It was hard for Lucius to bite back the, "I love you" that was aching to jump off his tongue. Zabini's mother must be so proud.

"So what…what exactly are _you_ going to do?" Lucius asked out of curiosity.

"What I do best: flirt. Harry'll be too dense to see what I'm doing, of course, but Draco will certainly notice. He'll do my work for me."

"Ah, yes. The only thing worse than cheating is having people think that you're cheating."

"Wait till the accusations start flying, and Harry will be putty in my hands. As for your side, sir…if I may make a suggestion…"

"By all means."

"While I'm replacing Draco is Harry's affections, it would be most advantageous for you to replace Harry in Draco's."

"…Excuse me?"

"Not in the sexual sense, of course. But if I may say so myself, Draco's got a bit of Daddy-complex. He's had it for as long as I can remember, although it's been showing up less and less since he's been dating Harry."

"You'll have to explain."

"Draco's always said that you were a bit…distant growing up. Everything he's ever done, aside from shagging the Golden Boy, has been to attain a bit of affection from you—the evil snot routine in first year, the scheming and the lying. You show him a bit of interest and he'll drop Harry like a dead rat—I guarantee you."

"I'm sure I could arrange that."

"Then we're set." Blaise said brightly, and rose from his chair. "When should I begin?"

"We're having our Christmas party tomorrow evening at seven o'clock. Formal wear."

"See you then." Blaise beamed, and they shook hands over Lucius' desk before flooing back home.

Lucius felt like he should make a tally list so that he could have the satisfaction of checking things off.

Not wanting to have a paper like that sitting around, though, he did it in his head.

_Acquire ally in Operation Break-Up: check._

If there weren't windows in this room, he'd hug himself.

XXX

Harry shivered as he brushed his teeth, and stood there in horror.

"What's the matter Harry?" Draco asked in concern as he combed his wet hair.

"I just got the strangest feeling. As if someone's plotting against me."

"…O-kay…"

"Don't mock me! Years of people trying to murder me have impeccably honed my self-preservation instincts. If I say someone's plotting against me, then someone's goddam well plotting against me!"

"Of course. After all, your instincts worked so well for you in the Chamber. You certainly didn't walk into that one dead-blind."

Harry spit out his toothpaste and grabbed Draco by the waist, throwing him over a shoulder.

"Agh! Harry! Put me down! _Down_!" Draco shouted, kicking and grappling at the same time.

"No. You need to be punished for not believing my intuition." Harry threw the blonde onto the bed and held him down firmly by the wrists, pressing his body down into the mattress.

"I thought you weren't going to fuck me." Draco drawled, pushing his body up against the Gryffindor's.

Harry only smiled and leaned in close, just hovering over Draco's panting lips.

"I'm not. I'm only teasing you." Harry whispered, and jumped off the blonde, laughing.

"Harry, goddamn it! I just finished taking a cold shower! You suck!"


	9. A Difficult Night

Draco found himself in a room.

He didn't quite remember the room, but felt as if at any minute he would suddenly recall that he had once sat on his grandfather's knee or said his first word in this room.

He had come in here for a reason, hadn't he? He wasn't sure. Wasn't he looking for something?

"It's about time." A throaty voice said from behind him, but before he could turn, strong arms wrapped around his waist and a chest pressed up against his back. He smiled. He didn't need to turn to see that it was Harry dropping kisses along the back of his neck. "I've been waiting. And not very patiently." Harry ground his hips against Draco, his erection showing just how impatient his body was.

"Don't start something you won't finish." Draco warned dangerously, but instead of laughing it off as Harry had been torturing him by doing all day, Harry spun him in his arms so they were facing one another.

Harry certainly didn't look as if he were teasing. His eyes were hooded and dark with passion, his glasses already put away. Draco didn't have much time to get a look beyond that, because Harry pulled him close and kissed him deep and soulfully, achingly. He devoured Draco's mouth as if he were starving, as if Draco was what kept him living and breathing. They kissed and nipped, licking tongues, sucking lips, breathing in snatches like Olympic swimmers.

Draco's arms went instinctively around Harry's neck, hands grappling at thick locks of ink-black hair. Harry worked Draco's shirt out of it's tuck, pushed forwards, forcing Draco back until he hit something sturdy—an unmoving cherry oak desk—and Draco hitched himself up to sit on its edge, taking Harry joyously between his legs and trapping him there.

"I'm not going to let you go until you give it to me proper," Draco panted. Harry tugged Draco's hips out from under him and laid him down upon the desk, molding himself over the blonde.

"I'm going to make you scream so loud your parents will think they heard a banshee." Harry growled, pulling Draco's shirt open hastily beneath him. Draco moaned deep inside his throat, which Harry was currently showing its due attention.

"Do you mean it, Potter? Don't say it if you don't mean it."

"I'm going to fuck you so hard, you won't be able to sit down till we're back at Hogwarts."

"Oh, God, yes! More." Draco gasped, pushing his pelvis up against the weight of Harry's body.

"You won't be able to walk straight after I'm through with you, sunshine." Harry murmured, and pushed Draco's legs off his hips. He slid Draco off the desk, turned him around with much manhandling, and bent him over the desk harshly.

"Please, please don't stop!" Draco moaned as Harry began to undo his belt buckle.

"Nobody's stopping anything," Harry rasped, filling Draco with joy. Finally, _finally_ he was going to get a proper seeing to. "I need you so bad."

Draco pushed himself back against Harry just as the Gryffindor got his pants undone and quickly shoved down to Draco's knees, praising the porcelain skin revealed.

"You're so beautiful." Harry whispered over Draco's hip and back and spine. Draco could feel his body hitching from need, from wanting—his legs quaking, his breathing doing what it would.

"Please, Harry. Please," he murmured, lying his head down on the desk, exhausted from being so pent up.

Harry kissed the small of his back and pushed Draco's feet as far apart as they could go, still trapped in his slacks. Draco's very skin seemed to be hitching at every touch from Harry's fingers as they trailed like ghosts up the inside of his thigh, higher. They went missing for a moment, but returned just where he needed them, so that he gave out a low keening moan of bliss.

"You've been waiting a long time for this?" Harry sighed the question over Draco's back, properly translating Draco's vocalization.  
"Merlin, yes! So long." Draco murmured, as Harry's slick fingers teased at his entrance. He forgot that he had meant to yell, "What do you think?!" as he struggled to restrain himself from pushing back on those frustrating fingers. He didn't need to struggle for long, as Harry slowly slipped one inside, causing Draco to sigh with pleasure. He had nearly forgotten how marvelous this felt, and it had only been a few days.

"I won't make you wait anymore." Harry breathed, and slipped in a second, quickly working them deeper. Draco's breathing had gone from tumultuous to hysteric, ripping in and out of him at a tempestuous pace.

"Ah, Harry! Yes!" Draco cried as Harry curled his fingers, hitting that magical spot inside of him.

"Tell me when you're ready. I won't rush you."

"Now! Now, I'm ready now!" Draco moaned and cried, pushing his body backwards, straining to get more.

"Tell me if I'm hurting you." Harry said, and his fingers slowly pulled away. Draco was momentarily crushed by their departure, but appeased himself with thoughts of what was sure to soon replace them.

"I like it when it hurts. Please." Draco said shyly, hopefully.

"Whatever you want." Harry replied, which pleased Draco to no end, as his boyfriend was normally squeamish when it came to Draco and pain.

And with that, Harry shoved his way inside, getting nearly half-way seated before Draco's body tightened impassably around him.

Draco gasped and sputtered and trembled as if he had been doused with ice water.

"Yes! More!" he cried, regaining enough breath for that at least.

"I can't do any more until you calm down. Ease up." Harry said in a tight voice that told Draco how hard his boyfriend was working to not move. Draco slowed his breathing forcefully, focusing on Harry's fingertips traipsing across his back rather than that blessed ache welling up in him so wondrously.

Harry kissed the back of his neck softly, and eased in further, taking each inch Draco's body ceded to him.

"Do I even need to ask how you want it?" Harry asked the nape of Draco's neck.

"If you wanted it slow and romantic then you shouldn't have left me waiting so long. Fuck me until my legs turn to marmalade. I want you so deep inside me I'll be able to taste your cum in the back of my throat."

"Sure thing, princess." Harry chuckled, and peeled himself off Draco's back. Draco desperately wished that he could see Harry's handiwork, but in this position it was just too difficult. Instead, like a blind man, he had to focus all of his other senses on _feeling_ as Harry pulled nearly all the way out and then slammed back in. And at that point, Draco's senses were lost in a cacophony in fireworks.

"Yes! Yes, just like that! Oh—just—" and then, while Draco's mouth was technically open, no clear words escaped.

Barely managing to get his head onto his folded arms rather than scraping against the desk, all he could really focus on was the dull burn, the exquisite ache and all-consuming bliss Harry was creating within him. That and the fact that his hipbones would be unavoidably bruised from crashing repeatedly into the edge of this desk. The thought only ignited him further—to everyone else he would appear normal, but he would be able to feel the difference, the ache in his arse, the tenderness of his battered hips. His secret, just him and Harry, devoid of any other person, unshared and personal and _Theirs_.

Harry grabbed Draco's hip in one hand and pulled so that Draco had to arch his back, and the blonde was immediately met with a pleasure so deep his very bones seemed to hum in abandon.

He didn't realize it expressly, but he had begun to cry out and babble alternately depending on whether or not Harry his that spot inside him. Among his unknown exclamations was, "God—Merlin—Fuck I love my prostate!"

Harry, luckily, had enough brain cells leftover from sex to enjoy this claim, and chuckled accordingly until he began to lose himself as well. His body began to tighten and to burn and to focus in, and he knew that he had maybe another minute before this was through and who know how long it would be before he got another go like this?

"What the fuck?!" Draco wailed as Harry pulled out suddenly, but that was as far as his complaints got. In the next instant, Harry had flipped the boy over onto his back, pulled a shaky leg over an olive-skinned arm, and dove back in.

Draco's following cry, or perhaps scream, held no articulate words, but Harry thought that it probably stood for something along the lines of, "God—yes, yes, yes!!!"

The blonde's back arched dramatically, his head tossed back, hands scrabbling at Harry's back in the throes of ecstasy, and as Harry latched himself onto the alabaster column of his exposed throat, Draco came.

The force of this orgasm was actually enough to jerk him awake.

It was pitch dark in his room, the fire having gone out, and only the glowing embers lived in the grate, only his own jagged breathing reverberating against the walls. He was propped up slightly, half sitting, panting, sure that he could still feel Harry's cock buried eight inches deep in his arse.

And yet this was Harry here.

Even in the dark, Draco could make out the Gryffindor propped on one elbow, eyes wide, obviously enjoying the show.

"Oh my god." Draco gasped, suddenly realizing with full force what happened.

"Did you just have a wet dream?! What are you, twelve?" Harry questioned disbelievingly.

"No! I'm horny is what I am!" Draco growled, angry and humiliated although he didn't know why. It wasn't like weirder shit hadn't transpired between he and Harry through all these months of regular fucking.

"Oh how on earth could you be horny enough to have a wet dream? I mean, I just gave you the hand-job of your life not ten hours ago!"

"I don't want a hand-job, _Potter,_" Draco said viciously, throwing back the covers and stepping stickily from the bed, moving delicately to the bathroom. "What I want is to get fucked up the arse! But _noooo_, somebody had to have _morals_, somebody had to be _respectful_ to a man who apparently hates him! Because that's _so much_ more important than somebody's boyfriend _getting pounded into the mattress_!"

"This somebody sounds super familiar." Harry murmured jokingly, joining Draco in the bathroom, blinking at the lights with his glasses on.

"Shut up! If you're not fucking me, then I don't want to talk to you."

"Aww, you really _do_ love me."

"This isn't about love! This is about you doing your duty as the top and fucking me!" Draco said harshly, stripping down and stepping into the stream of hot water in shower.

"I don't get you. When we first started up I had to beg, plead, threaten, cajole, bargain and blackmail you to get you to bottom. Now you're manic for it."

"What can I say? The powers of your cock has converted me. _Bravo_."

"I'm not doing it to be mean, you know." Harry contended, opening the shower door and then wishing he hadn't. Draco really was the most beautiful person Harry had ever seen, and in Harry's opinion those good looks were greatly enhanced with the technology of nudity. Hot water had turned the snow-white skin a healthy pinkish color, and had flattened feathery hair, lengthening it until it was plastered to the nape of Draco's neck, to his forehead and so that it was slightly in his eyes.

Against his will, Harry's body began to act against his own declaration of near-celibacy.

"I know, you're doing it to be _nice_, or whatever excuses you Gryffindors come up with for doing stupid shit. Whatever your reasons, the effects are the same: _I'm not getting any_!"

Harry tried to moisten his lips, but had run out of saliva, spending it all drooling over his boyfriend.

"Well, how about a quick blowjob right here and now, eh? Let me make it up to you?"

"Oh, so blowing me is okay, but fucking me is not!"

"Not so loud! I'm being nice here! Making exceptions. Besides, I don't think your dad much cares what I do with _my_ mouth."

Draco shook his wet hair back (or tried to), and Harry automatically deflated. Apart from overlooking his manicure, this act was the most annoying thing Draco did while arguing.

"I've already come tonight. And frankly, I prefer dream-Harry's tactics to yours at this moment. _He_ knows how to show a boy a good time." Draco said smugly.

"…You dream about me?" Harry asked, awash in a glow of surprise and adoration, pride and joy.

"Oh god." Malfoy groaned, realizing his unwitting remark. He didn't look over at Harry letting the cold air into his steamy shower, but knew the dramatization of the scene in his head: a spotlight on Boy Wonder, green eyes over-huge and sparkling with tears of joy, shocked little grin, moony features. "Don't let it go to your head, Potter. Who else am I going to fantasize about other than my boyfriend?"

"Awwww!" Harry exclaimed, and lunged to embrace his boyfriend, soaking his pajamas in the process.

"Get off of me, Harry! That's not what I meant at all! I didn't say it the right way! I meant—well I mean to say…However one would say that I don't have a big enough imagination to fantasize about anyone other than you, that's what I meant to say!" Draco sputtered, but Harry was too ecstatic to believe him.

"It's too late, you already said it the first way. No take-backs." Harry said, showing no signs of releasing a sudsy Draco from his python grip.

Draco finally realized this and stopped his struggles, going limp in strong arms.

"This is going to be a long night." Draco sighed, body already reacting to his fantasy life's physical mirror being pressed to tightly to his own damp nakedness.

XXXX

A/N: Okay, now _that _was smutty. Thus I am nervous to hear your thoughts. Go easy on me—I'll think up excuses as to why you should go easy on me later, right now I'm too tired. (Oh! There's one!).


	10. Trickery

Harry was happy.

He hadn't thought it would be possible, after going back to bed with a cranky Slytherin, but apparently it was. Draco had woken up inexorably pleased, and, as per usual, his emotions held great weight in deciding Harry's own. Harry had to assume that Draco had drifted into yet another…_pleasant_ dream, but as Draco's pleasant dreams apparently oft-included Harry, he didn't find that he minded much.

Draco had slowly emerged out of sleep with a tired little smile, and had devoted fifteen whole minutes to fully-awake cuddling with Harry—something the boy never did without exhaustion being a factor. Harry had always thought this particular habit of Draco's was one of the most peculiar, because it was obvious that Draco enjoyed cuddling; and yet he never did it without extenuating circumstances (often sexual circumstances), saying only that it was "a waste of time."

In any case, not only had Harry woken up to a pleasant Draco, but he was currently with an even _more_ pleasant Draco. After breakfast Draco had suggested that they go back to the bedroom, and while Harry had thought this suggestion had a sexual purpose, he had been wrong.

Once in the bedroom, Draco recommended that they take one of the spare down comforters and alter the setee in Draco's abutting parlor room. Setting out the blanket on top of the stiff couch (another similarity amongst most Malfoy furniture), Harry and Draco had continued where they had left off that morning, and thus here they were, cuddled tightly in a tiny bed of fluff and comfort.

And Harry was happy. In fact, he thought he might be purring. Draco, tucked under his chin, was tracing soothing designs on his back with those aristocratically pointed fingers, and Harry was half-asleep with contentment.

He took in a deep, comfortable breath, and sighed it out heavily.

"My God! You're so thin!" Draco said, pressing his hand flat against Harry's ribcage as he breathed in deeply. "You still haven't recovered from this summer?'

Harry's breathing immediately tightened to hide the prominence of his ribs, displayed with each deep breath.

"What? I'm fine." He felt a rush of panicked embarrassment at his own body.

"No you're not! You're practically emaciated! What's wrong? You weren't this thin last Christmas." Draco said, pushing his fingertips between Harry's jutting ribs painfully.

"How would you know? We weren't even together last Christmas." Harry said, wincing.

"Well we were definitely together last _April_, and there is _no way_ you were as skinny then as you are now! You're positively _scrawny_!"

Harry inadvertently pulled his arms back from the blonde, tucking them against his torso to hide his thinness. He was stunned into silence. He knew that he was a bit lean, of course, and it was a constant source of consternation with him. Although he knew he wasn't a particularly handsome boy, he had always thought that it was his gauntness that made him particularly _un_-handsome. But to have Draco come out and say it…the boy was normally very diplomatic around the subject of this aspect of Harry's anatomy, knowing it made the brunette the most uncomfortable. Harry thought that he must be _very_ thin for Draco to lose his composure like this.

"I didn't think I was _that_ thin…" Harry said softly.   
"What?! How could you not tell? Even your muscles are smaller! Look at them!"

Harry looked down at his proffered bicep, pulling the sleeve of his black T-shirt up to his shoulder.

"I don't think it's any smaller…I worked really hard in the yard this summer. How could it be smaller?"

"You're not getting enough nutrients! It doesn't matter how much exercise you do if you don't get the right nutrients. It's definitely smaller." Draco suddenly went from aghast to smug. "You remember that thing we did right before we left for summer? In the astronomy tower?"

Harry remembered it intimately. It had been a hassle lifting Draco like that, but God, having him pinned to the wall, moaning and mewling, had been absolute bliss.

"There's not going to be any more of that until you get your body back in shape. You'd drop me!" Draco laughed.

"I'm not _that_ scrawny! I could still lift you."

"Yeah, for maybe two seconds. No thanks. I'd like for all my bones to remain in one piece, personally." Draco giggled, and it was this laughter, this joking at his expense, that urged Harry into action.

He hopped up from the couch in an angry tiff.

"Get over here. Jump up." Harry demanded.

"Oh, God. I've wounded his delicate Gryffindor pride. It's okay that you're not as strong as you were in the spring, okay? It's no big deal."

"_Get. Over. Here_." Harry gritted out, and Draco obediently scrabbled over to him, jumping up. Harry gripped the boy under the arse, and was proud that the boy's weight, while considerable, was still no match for him.

"Holy shit, put me down!" Draco shouted, gripping Harry tightly with his legs and arms.

"What?! What is it?"

"You're fucking shaking, that's what it is! Don't you dare drop me, Potter—stop it!"

"I'm not shaking! I'm fine! Let go and I'll put you down!"

"If I let go I'll fall! Go over to the wall over there, let me get down." Draco demanded, and Harry struggled to do as he was told. It was much harder to walk with this weight than to stand still—plus, he couldn't see shit past his panicked boyfriend. They finally reached the wall and Draco reached up to grip an iron light fixture, grinding his hips against Harry provocatively.

"Mmm, much better." Draco sighed, smirking evilly. Harry stood in shock.

"You tricked me! Let go of my waist."

"Oh I will, right as soon as you fuck me." Draco cooed, forcing Harry's body to react.

"Draco, please! Stop!"

"Sure thing. Give me another ten, fifteen minutes, and I think you'll be about finished." Draco said, moaning, pushing himself harder into Harry. Draco would murder Harry if he pulled back and made the blonde fall, plus he could hurt the boy by doing that. But staying there simply wasn't an option. Draco had been much too gracious in thinking Harry would last ten minutes under this assault—Harry gave himself about _two_ minutes before he ripped off both their clothing and mauled the boy like a wild beast.

So he did something he had never done in their seven months of insanely kinky sex.

He said the safe word.

"Quidditch."

Draco stilled immediately. His eyes, first shocked and not a little hurt, morphed quickly into murderous as he shoved his way off of Harry.

"That's not fair, _Potter_." He growled soft and low in his throat.

"I'm sorry."

"What gives?! This is why I don't get Gryffindors! You want to fuck me. I want to fuck you. So why can't we fuck?!"

"Your dad—"

"Is a dad! If it were up to him I'd _never_ have sex—especially homosexual sex! I'd be kept pristinely in a glass container where people could look but not touch! It's not like he's excited about us fucking at Hogwarts—he doesn't want us to have sex at all! But I don't see you jumping to ridiculous resolutions over _that_."

"This is different. You know it is. He owns this house. He raised you in this house. I'm a guest. An extremely disliked guest; and I'd like to keep it at that level or higher rather than regressing from dislike into loathing."

"_That's not fair_! These are extenuating circumstances—I'm desperate here! Surely my father would rather you give me what I want rather than make me _desperate_! He hates desperation way more than he hates you!"

"I'm not drilling you into the mattress in your father's house! I'm sorry you don't agree, but that's final!"

"…How do you feel about my father's stables?"

"Not your father's anything! If he owns it, I'm not fucking you in it!"

"Damn you, Potter!" Draco crossed his arms in a huff, and then started gnawing on his thumb-tip. This was his thinking stance, and Harry loved it—the way the blonde's brows furrowed and he stared agitatedly into space as he mulled over various unworkable plots, his lips pressed around his abused thumb.

Blonde eyebrows suddenly jumped. "Hm…" Draco murmured, and began to smile.

"I've got it."

"You father owns the carriage."

"I'm not thinking of the carriage, you git. Get your cloak. We're going on a field trip."

XXX

"A barn." Harry said dully as they approached the looming red building.

"I thought you'd like it. It's Gryffindor red. Plus, it's completely out of my father's domain." Draco said smilingly, nodding back to the stone wall separating the boys from the Manor. Harry followed the blonde as he ducked under the ancient wooden fence and stalked up to the back of the barn. In the front was a stone building with a stone fence and dying plants. Someone's home. Harry could see inside the largish front window to an old couple huddled around the TV.

"You have got to be kidding me! What if they walk in on us?!" Harry hissed, as if the couple could hear him.

"Oh please, the both of them are deaf, dumb and half blind. I highly doubt they're going to be up for some midday treks to the freaking _barn_, Potter."

"Still!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I must be mistaking you for my boyfriend, Harry Potter—you know him, right? The boy who snuck out to Hogsmeade under his invisibility cloak while a murderer was out for his neck, chanced upon a three-headed dog, followed a notorious criminal through a murderous tree to a haunted shack? Have you seen him about anywhere, because I really want to get fucked in an empty barn that there is less than one percent chance of someone coming into, and he's a kind of necessary participant."

"Okay, okay! Quit bitching! Let's go." Harry whispered. Draco looked smug and boldly led the way to the heavy wooden door of an entrance.

"Come on. Upstairs." Draco said, and started up a staircase that had more in common with a ladder.

At ground level the barn was dusty with hay. There was a cow that Harry could see dimly from where he stood, but other than that the barn was indeed empty. Up the ladder/staircase Harry followed. The windows up here were open and let in both the light and the cold but to Harry the temperature was just right. It was muggy with animal heat in here, and the icy breeze blowing in perfectly counter-balanced it, in Harry's opinion, although he was sure Draco would complain about the cold. If the boy could think about anything other than Harry's cock for what was sure to be their short stay here.

Against the back wall were stacks upon stacks of hay going all the way up to the ceiling, and at some point some must have come loose for there were thick piles of free or semi-blocked hay sitting in front of the hay wall.

"Come on, hand me your cloak." Draco said, and once Harry did as he was told the blonde placed it over the loose hay.

"You couldn't use your own cloak?"

"I have a better idea for _my_ cloak." Draco said, and stepped in close to the Gryffindor, wrapping his cloak around the both of them. "This is good, right Harry? You'll fuck me, won't you?"

Draco sounded both so petulant and sexy and Harry could only nod before leaning in and devouring his lips. This all felt like a glorious home-coming to Harry. There was just something wonderful about the feel of Draco writhing beneath him, seeing the effect he was having on the blonde in every hitch of breath and moaning sigh. He found that despite all his foot-dragging, he was inexpressibly eager to begin, and yet at the same time wanted time to drag slowly enough for this to last forever.

Draco groaned and let his head fall back, exposing that gorgeous length of neck to Harry's mouth. The Gryffindor took his time, slowly crawling his hands to Draco's collar and undoing the pearl buttons, kissing every inch of newly exposed flesh.

"It might be easier, in our surroundings, if you hands-and-knee it." Harry murmured.

"No," Draco replied stoutly. Harry looked up at the blonde from the indent of the breastbone's finish, and the blonde was staring down at him, eyes lustful, lips kissed red. "If this is the one time I get you then I want to see your face."

Harry nodded in compliance and worked his way further down, pulling Draco's shirt from the black slacks.

"Lie down." Harry commanded gently from Draco's stomach, and the blonde let his shaking legs out from under himself, collapsing carefully onto the loose hay. He sat up again to slip his shirt off his shoulders.

"Let me." Harry said, catching the blonde's eyes, intense and lustful, and removed the shirt with the flat of his hands over Draco's chilled arms without breaking eye contact. It sent shivers up the blonde's spine that even the cold couldn't equal.

"Ha-arry," Draco sighed, pleading against such slowness. He already felt fit to burst with pleasure.

"Shh. If this is the only time I get you then I want to do it slow. I want to make it last." Harry murmured against Draco's slick lips.

"If you go this slowly, _I_ won't last."

But Harry only chuckled and teased Draco's belt away. He kissed the blonde faintly and pressed his lips across the smooth chest, over the tense abs, down to the hem of Draco's slacks that he was currently undoing with slow fingers. He reveled in every hitched breath, every whispered moan of his name, every jerk of over-tensed muscles.

Pants undone, Harry set his fingertips hard against Draco's hips and dragged them down, pulling all vestments down ahead of their wake. Draco lifted his hips luxuriously, aiding his boyfriend with a sighing moan.

"You are so beautiful." Harry sighed against the boy's flat stomach, and then pulled back to ease ink-black slacks and cherry-red boxers off snow-white skin.

Draco smiled and tilted his head back, stretching his arms upwards languorously.

"I know where I've heard that before," the blonde sighed happily, closing his eyes. Harry chose not to ask, instead focusing on working his way back up those stilt-like legs.

Draco sighed and gasped as Harry's fingertips ghosted up the inside of his leg, pushing it gently outwards, stretching recently unemployed tendons.

"Ohhhhh yes," Draco moaned, feeling Harry's hot breath touching over his hip bone and stomach, nearly crying out as Harry dropped open-mouth kisses over the inside of Draco's thigh. "If you keep goofing off, I'm – n-ah-ah-ot going to last very lo-ohh-ng at all."

Harry felt inclined to agree, as his own growing need was threatening to burst through his jeans. Denim was not a hospitable companion in times like these.

"One sec," Harry sighed, standing and quickly shucking off his faded T-shirt and gray jeans and boxers, toeing off his trainers.

"I lied earlier," Draco said, and Harry realized that the blonde had been watching him undress, much to his embarrassment.

"Wha—"

"You're not scrawny. I lied. I'm sorry." Draco said, averting his eyes.

"It's okay. I know how thin I am," said Harry, kneeling down before his boyfriend. Draco winced and edged his way forwards until he was in Harry's lap.

"I like the way you look, Harry," Draco murmured, kissing the boy, letting his hands wander where they would. "In fact…I sort of _love_ the way you look."

Draco went slightly blurry as Harry's glasses were removed.

"You're so handsome." Draco sighed, kissing him slowly yet ravenously. Harry didn't argue, only pushed Draco gently onto his back, cradling and caressing him. With Draco, like this, in these moments, he really believed the boy when he said things like that.

Draco's gasp broke the kiss as he felt his entrance slickened and cool. He eyed his boyfriend, hand slyly on his wand.

"Nonverbal?"

"I've been getting pretty good at it lately."

"Mmm, maybe you should be getting extra credit for these little escapades of ours."

"I'll be sure to bring it up with McGonnogal."

"Hm, you do tha—ah" Draco's words fell off as Harry slipped in one sleek finger.

"You are so hot."

"Another." Draco demanded, and groaned loudly when his demand was met—Harry delving his fingers deeper, scissoring them apart. "Oh yes, oh God, oh Merlin, yes."

It felt like forever since Harry had heard Draco's standard love-making rambling, and he was left roiling and writhing in its wake.

"Draco…"

"Yes, now, do it now. Please." Draco groaned, and Harry sighed with relief.

"Tell me if I'm hurting you." Harry said, but Draco only laughed.

Harry insinuated himself between Draco's legs, moving one gently over his arm, and Draco sobered, watching avidly as Harry guided himself to the entrance and pressed down. Draco's breathing turned into clipped gasps as he rocked his body pendulously, gradually taking in more and more of the brunette. Harry strained to keep himself motionless as Draco acclimated himself to this new intrusion.

"Okay, okay." Draco sighed, lying back and locking eyes with Harry. Harry couldn't pull away from those eyes, darkened to a stormy gray—the sort that pours out torrents of rain or prophesizes stormy seas.

Draco's legs splayed further on either side of him, and Harry absentmindedly let his body settle further and further inside the blonde, watching intently as Draco's eyelashes fluttered and his mouth worked soundlessly, those dark pink lips pressing and then jumping apart.

"God you feel so good inside me," Draco murmured, dipping his eyes to see Harry's progress.

"You're so tight." Harry said with much strain.

"_Now_ you're shaking." Draco chuckled, breath hitching, but Harry only said, "You're so tight."

Harry breathing eased once he was seated completely inside the blonde, whereas Draco's became more tumultuous.

"Please, Harry, please," he moaned, pulling at the brunette with his thighs.

Harry nodded and gripped one ivory leg, pressing it hot to his body as he pulled back and eased back in, making Draco groan in that other-worldly rasp he sometimes attained unwittingly during sex.

Again and again Harry drew out and pressed instinctively back in, as thoughtlessly as the tide, watching attentively as Draco was driven more and more surely insane with increasing lust and delectation.

Harry's pace quickened despite his desire for a slow pace—it was just too much to take slowly. Sex with Draco always threw all previously adhered to resolutions completely from his mind.

As Draco's moans and groans quickened, and rose in pitch (even though Draco never admitted to it afterwards), it became apparent to Harry that neither he nor Draco were going to be able to get a handle on their spiraling need.

So with one hand he shoved Draco's leg up high on his shoulder, folding the boy nearly double beneath him, and with his other he gripped Draco's weeping cock tightly. Draco automatically went from moaning to near-screaming, body jerking and twisting wildly.

"Oh God ohgodohgod," Harry gritted out, hips going at a wild pace.

"A—ah! Harry!" Draco wailed, and came with a violent arch of his back, turning his body into a vice grip around Harry, dragging him unavoidably into a wringing orgasm.

"Oh…oh…" Draco sighed with each wracking breath.

"Well…that was pleasant." Harry panted, pushing himself off the blonde, and Draco laughed.

Draco cooled down quickly, sweat going icy on his skin, and so he rolled onto his stomach, folding his arms beneath his chest and eying his boyfriend docilely as the brunette regained his breath.

"Did you mean it?" Draco whispered.

"I always mean it." Harry half-panted in return. Draco chuckled.

"You don't even know what I'm talking about."  
"Hm, you have a point. So what are you talking about?"

"Did you mean it when you asked me to marry you?" Harry turned his head to look at his gorgeous boyfriend, arms tucked under his chest, hair falling down lightly into his face, those unbelievable eyes looking calm and neutral. Harry didn't feel pressured towards an admission of ever-lasting love. Those eyes seemed to say that they would take and be happy with whatever level of intimacy Harry was capable of giving, as if Draco had spent every capacity to care and now wanted to know simply out of curiosity.

"I meant it."

Draco's blank features broke into a luxuriously bright smile and he hid his face in his arms. Harry laughed and pulled the blonde across the floor, tightly against his bare chest. The Slytherin propped himself up on his elbow and pet back Harry's ink-black hair, still smiling beautifully.

"You don't think we're too young?" Harry whispered conspiratorially. This entire conversation felt like a secret wish between the two of them, and Harry didn't want to share it with anyone else—he begrudged the barn its knowing.

"Do you?"

"Having dark wizards continuously try to murder you tends to make you feel too old rather than too young."

"Do you think we should wait? We've only known each other going on eight months."

"We've known each other longer than that."

"You know what I mean, Harry."

"Ah. In the Biblical sense." Draco only smiled. Harry reached up and fingered his hair smooth. "I love you. I'll always love you like I do right now."

"That's not always the case you know," Draco said morosely, lying his head down on Harry's chest. "Some people fall out of love. Especially when they get together as young as we are."

"Well, some people lead normal lives and have normal adversities. We're not some people, Draco."

"Then…you really do want to?"

"I'd rather not put things off. Who knows when they could get put off till…all things considered…" Harry murmured vaguely, but Draco understood. Put this thing off for too long, and who knew if Harry would even be alive on his wedding day?

It was a harrowing thought, and Draco shivered and cringed, trying to ignore how absolutely devastated he would feel if anything like that ever happened to Harry.

"If anything happened to you…before…"

"Oh I get it, as long as you've got the ring on your finger it's fine." Harry chuckled, but Draco looked horrified.

"Promise me. Promise me you won't be an idiot and get yourself killed. No more Gryffindor back bone or honor or chivalry. The next time Ginny Weasley gets herself in a scrape I want you to leave her in it."

"Draco…." Harry tilted Draco's face upwards, taking in the wet grey eyes. "Draco."

"Promise me." Draco whispered, blinking back tears.

"I promise. I won't leave you. I'd never leave you."

Draco buried his face into Harry's shoulder, and Harry held him tightly there as his body trembled.

After a few minutes Draco got himself under control and pulled back, wiping tears off his cheeks.  
"Well, lots of people cry when they get proposed to. But I guess those are tears of joy, yeah?" Draco chuckled.

The boys suddenly smiled widely at each other.

"We're getting married."

"Married." Harry laughed, and neither one could hold in their mirth, laughing quietly together.

"God, if your dad hated me before…"

"Let's let my mom tell him. She knows how to handle him."

"Do you think I'll have to call him Dad? Maybe I will anyway. Just to piss him off."

"Yeah, that's helpful."

There was a sudden bang, and Harry lunged for his wand before realizing that it was the door from downstairs being thrown open. He looked at Draco, who wore a horrified expression that Harry thought mirrored his own.

Even worse, heavy boot steps and a noisy, wet cough began to make their way up the stairs, followed by the old man from the cottage.

Shocked beyond movement, Harry and Draco simply gripped each other, trying to remain as still as possible, as all prey do when confronted with an indomitable predator.

The man dragged himself to a hay bail, pulled, shoved, and kicked it down the stairs, and then followed it down, grumbling about the cold and arthritis the whole way, but in no way noticing the two naked boys gripping each other white in the far corner of the room.

Harry and Draco listened as the man cut loose the hay, and tossed it around, but didn't start breathing again until the door slammed closed again.

"Oh my God." Draco said, gasping for breath.

"Less than a one percent chance, huh?"

"Shut up. If you're going to marry me, then you're not allowed to throw things I say into my face when they turn out to be completely false."

"Hmm, hardly sounds worth it, then. Ow!"

XXXXX

A/N: Whew! A long one this time! Repay all my hard work by reviewing! It's the charitable thing to do, you know.


	11. And So It Begins

"Have you seen Draco?" Lucius asked, masking his unease with a glower. Partaking in evil plots against his own kin was nerve-wracking even to Lucius. But this was for the boy's own good. So of course he shouldn't feel awkward or guilty about it. Ha! A Malfoy feeling guilty! The only reason he was keeping this plot to himself was out of refinement, not guilt. Only hooligans went around announcing their evil plots to anyone willing to listen. And Lucius was not a hooligan. He was much more like a tyrant, or…well, something more important-sounding.

In any case, his forced stoniness was unnecessary, Narcissa was much too busy noticing her evening gown to notice his growing worry.

"He and Harry went for a walk of the grounds."

"Damn it. I had wanted to get started early…"

"Get started with what?" Narcissa asked distractedly, holding different fur collars to her face in the mirror.

"Oh…er…just, you know. _Bonding_." Lucius grit out. He was still stinging from Zabini's off-hand comment regarding him and his warmth-ness towards his only son.

"Oh good!"

Lucius sat on the edge of the bed and wrung his hands together and did what he could only in front of his wife. He doubted himself.

"I'm a good father, aren't I? Better than my father, right?"

Narcissa heard the distress in his voice and paused in trying on earrings, looking at her husband with concern.

"Oh, darling…of course you're…better than your father. I mean…you're father was hardly ever around. And when he _was_ around—my god he was such a _bastard_! I mean…even more bastardly than most Slytherins, and not in the good, endearing kind of bastardly way, either. I mean, he was a real jackass."

"Exactly! I'm not a jackass, am I?"

"…Well…"

"_Well what_?!"

"Well, are we talking about in _general_, or in _specific_ relationships?"

"Am I a jackass father?"

"You…have your moments…"

"_Oh god_." Lucius groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "I gave Draco a Daddy-Complex and thus pushed him into the arms of strange men and Muggle drugs as he struggles to find the love I denied him as a small child!"

"Oh I don't know if I'd go that far. I mean, he didn't join the Death Eaters, so there's a good sign, right?"

Lucius cringed at the thought. Following the Dark Lord had seemed like a perfectly reasonable endeavor back before Scarhead got his scar, but after the Dark Lord's fall, and then his return to the living…well, even Lucius could tell when a man had gone completely off his rocker. Purging the wizarding world of undeserving Mudbloods? Sure. Manic obsession with a seventeen year old boy? Not so cool. Not to mention that, once you got to know the Dark Lord, he was _so_ nouveau-riche. The man had absolutely no tact or grace anymore, not like he did back before the creepified resurrection.

"If I had kept Death-Eating, do you think he would have, too?"

"Absolutely."

"Uggghhh, I'm going to be sick. I mean, yeah, I wanted him to be _obedient_, but not to the point of stupidity! Just because I make stupid decisions sometimes, doesn't mean he should make them too out of allegiance to me! That's not Slytherin at all!"

"Yes, but you never taught him to judge your decisions as stupid or not. If you said it, it was right. You said Death Eaters were good, and so he automatically believed you! That right there—that's you being a jackass father."

"Ohhh, but that makes it all so much more difficult! Why can't parenting be easy?" Lucius pouted.

"If you want easy parenting, then get a doll, not a baby. We had him, he's here, you gave him whatever complex thing you were talking about, so now you've got to un-give it to him."

"But how?!"

"Figure it out. If you can do it you can undo it."

"That's not true at all."

"Suck it up. Now go find your son and bond! Bond for all you're worth!"

XXX

Lucius tried to not laugh and cheer on his way to his study.

Excellent! Most excellent! Now Narcissa would think nothing of his extended use of his son's time—time in which to adequately get his son back on the Malfoy track. No more black-haired scar freaks loafing about the Manor, no more faded T-shirts or trainers squeaking on the marble flooring, no more curious poking about by gawky teenage son-mongers!

In addition to that, Draco would be too busy bonding with him to shag Potter (God willing), and this would give Zabini enough time to work on his angle to this plot.

Oh if only he were in a secluded enough part of the castle to hug himself!

But no time for that, no time. Had to find those boys. Who knew what they could be up to, left so long to their own devices? Potter was probably teaching Draco something filthy and lewd right about now, dragging him down into sexual destitution. Agh! He might be making Draco beg! Malfoy's _never_ begged! Draco could be saying 'please' at this very moment!!

XXX

"Pllllleeeeeeaaaaaaasssssssseeeeeee, Harry! Please, please, please!" Draco whined, stomping his feet petulantly with each plea.

"We haven't the time! We have to get ready for the Christmas party!"

"That's plenty of time! Please—I'll dress fast! I won't gel my hair or do anything special to my face," Draco was having a hard time even saying this, choking over his completely un-meant proposition. "I'll just throw on whatever dress robe is out, I don't care, just please give me one more good, lasting, soul-splitting fuck before I have to go without for Merlin knows how long!"

"Please don't do this to me, Draco. You know we don't have time!"

"Just a quickie, then."

"You're parents will be looking for us by now."

"They'll be doing no such thing!"

"We can come back, as soon as we can, we'll come back." Harry promised, closing the door to the barn carefully.

"Oh, that'll be forever! I want you noooowwww!"

"Well then I guess you'll just have to learn a little patience." Draco's eyes went deadly wide, and if he had hackles, they'd be raised right now.

Despite the danger of the situation, Harry got in close against Draco, pushing him against the side of the barn, molding his body against the boy, grinding their hips together, whispering against the parted lips.

"Show me a little patience and I promise to repay you in a most magnificent way tonight."

"Getting a little cocky, now, aren't you?"

"Well, you writhing and moaning underneath me tends to do wonderful things for my ego." Harry smiled, kissed the boy deeply, and pulled away. Draco pouted, but let it pass. He had always preferred instant gratification to delayed, but fooling around with Harry had taught him that the latter had certain unalienable perks. Even now he could tell his blood would be keeping up with its burning pulse throughout the day until his magnificent repayment was reaped.

He did a quick hop and a jump ensemble that he used to get into step with Harry and wrapped his arms around the boy's stomach.  
"When we get married you'll have to do what I say. If I say I want a proper shagging you'll have to give it to me, on the spot, no putting it off in lieu of Christmas parties or family luncheons."

"That's what you think, eh?" Harry chuckled, putting an arm tightly around Draco's shoulders.

"Yep. I know you. As soon as I change my name, you'll be putty in my hand. Someone will call me Mr. Potter and you'll jump me where I'm standing."

"You're probably right. But you'd do the same if someone called me Mr. Malfoy."

"Mr. Malfoy, your hands are cold. Wow! Even when _I_ say it I want to jump you."

"Let me try. Mr. Potter, your nose is turning pink. Hm, very interesting sensation indeed." The boys laughed and with a quick peck to the cheek Draco let loose of his future husband in order to hold hands with the boy.

They very rarely held hands, and they usually did it in sarcasm, in order to say, "We are the stereotypical teenage couple." Now the act seemed to take on a different meaning. Now it seemed to say, "Soon, this hand will have a ring on it," and this meaning made luxurious shivers shimmy up Draco's spine and he wanted to do something loud and exuberant—shout or sing our laugh out loud. Instead he smiled and let Harry squeeze his hand happily.

X

"Is my nose that pink?"

"Very pink. Umbridge pink."

"Yuck." Draco grimaced, hiding his nose away in a thick scarf from the coat closet.

There was a faint pop and then Harry let out an echoing yelp. Draco jerked up in alarm, hand flashing for his wand and a terrifying thought flipped through his mind.

_He's dead and now I'll be broken hearted and waste away from grief._

But Harry seemed fine, he had fallen back against the double doors, and was breathing harshly, but Draco couldn't see what had inspired such obvious panic. It was only a House Elf.

"Yes, Mepsy?" Draco asked, ignoring his silly fiancée—fiancée! Not boyfriend anymore, no siree! At once Draco was taken over with an odd desire to tell Mepsy that he'd just been proposed to, to tell everyone, to put an add out in the _Prophet_: **Malfoy Heir Engaged to Boy-Who-Lived!**

"Err…Master Malfoy is wanting to speak to you in his study, sir…" Mepsy stated with a low bow, glancing with worry over to Harry as the boy recovered.

"That will be all." Draco said, and the house elf disappeared. Draco let down his austere airs and started laughing. "What was _that_?"

"Sorry," Harry murmured, running his hand through his hair with embarrassment.

"Were you seriously terrified by my house elf? Seriously?"

"Shut up. I…I forgot that you had them…"

"What?"

"Well, I haven't seen any around this whole time! I just forgot…"

"You are very silly."

"I just don't see why anyone would need House Elves…I mean, magic makes everything so easy as it is."

"Let's _not_ get into that. You're never going to get me to give up my House Elves, and you can tell Hermoine that, too!"

"I wonder what your dad wants…" Harry said, mostly to get off this subject. House Elves was one of those subjects that Harry assumed he and Draco would never come to agreement on, much like the Muggle-born argument, the Slytherin-was-a-god argument, the Snape-is-really-a-swell-guy argument, and many others.

Draco gave him a look that clearly said _I'm so not fooled, _but went along with it in any case.

"I don't know. He'll probably give me the pre-social-event pep-talk. It's a quick rundown of every Malfoy social rule in existence so that I don't publicly humiliate the family. Yey, fun!"

"Give me an example. I should brush up on the Malfoy social rules." Harry said, and Draco got a rush of joy into his chest.

_We're going to be a family, and we're going to have family traditions and rules together, and we'll pass these down to…?_ He thought headily.

"Well, for example, a Malfoy never hunches over his food. A Malfoy doesn't nod, we lower our head in agreement," Draco gave a quick show of it, pursing his lips seriously and inclining his head slightly before returning it to its high perch upon his elongated neck. "and a Malfoy does not laugh, we chuckle, or sometimes chortle."

"Sounds super-duper."

"You asked."

"That'll teach me. Well, I guess you better run along to your pep-talk, kitten. Is there a rule as to which endearments Malfoys are allowed to be called by?"

"If there is then I'm pretty sure 'kitten' isn't on the list of approved pet names. Neither is 'sunshine,' 'princess,' or 'popsicle' I should imagine."

"Oh, come on. I've only called you Popsicle once! Maybe twice…"

"No longer allowed. Probably you'll still be allowed to call me Darling and Dear. That might be it."

"Not even Sugar?"

"Nope."

"How about Sex-Machine?"

"I'll make an exception."

"All right. I'm going get ready then, sex machine. See you."

"Bye."

XXXXXX

A/N: In my esteemed opinion, this chapter sucks. Ah well, I'll blame the holidays. I'm too busy trying to be imaginative with my Christmas gift-giving—I've nothing left over for fanfiction writing. Sorry, everybody!


	12. The First Task

Draco left his father's study over an hour later wringing his hands and pale. Well, pal_er_.

He was both greatly confused and greatly worried.

"You…you _approve_ of…of me and Harry?" he had asked his father, too shocked to wrap his mind around it. It was as if his father had announced that he and Dumbledore were great pals and got together on the weekends to play football (a strangely lacking "sport" that Harry had both tried to explain and gave up on explaining to Draco in under two minutes).

"Of course! Your mother tells me that you two are very serious, and so of course I am completely committed to making sure Harry meshes with the family—no need for unnecessary friction in this matter!"

"I'm—I'm so glad you understand, Father. Because…well, because…" Draco was going to tell his father about his very recent engagement, but then pulled back. If his father were serious about being nice to Harry, then this was no time to tell him that he and Harry had decided to get married without his approval. After all, it wasn't Harry's fault that he didn't know aristocratic protocol. Even if Harry _did_ know that he was supposed to get Lucius' approval before proposing to Draco, he doubted that Harry would do it. Harry didn't like to say so, but it was obvious that Lucius scared the bejesus out of the brunette. Damn it, he had thought 'bejesus' again. Why did he keep using Harry's strange Muggle phrases? Okay, New Year's Resolution: no more strange Muggle sayings sluiced off Harry's droll vocabulary.

"Because Harry means a lot to me." Draco finished.

"Wonderful." Lucius said tightly.

Lucius stood slowly and made himself a stiff drink before moving on to the window overlooking the back of the grounds.

"All of this will be in your hands one day, Draco." Draco made himself comfortable, he had heard the beginning to his pre-social even speech many times, and it normally lasted a while. "But not only your hands." Hm, this was new. "Your mother must uphold the family name just as vigilantly as I do, as you do. Tonight is a very important night. We always strive to put forth a good image on nights like tonight, but this time Potter will have to put forth this image, too. As long as you two are dating, people are going to see his speech and actions as a reflection of our family. It was up to me and your mother to teach you how to act in public. It's up to you to teach Potter. I dare say you'll have your work cut out for you. While you were raised in this atmosphere, Potter is a newcomer to even our most basic of customs."

Draco's breathing was turning shallow in the shadow of such a daunting task. He found the fact that Harry couldn't tell the soup spoon from the dessert spoon endearing, but even he had to admit that he had been aghast when Harry first informed him of this. He could find certain faults of Harry's cute because he loved Harry. Outsiders would only see them as faults, points to pick at in their daily gossiping sessions: _That Malfoy boy's beau is a complete Neanderthal! He ate like a farmer and bowed like a commoner! I've never laughed so hard in my life!_

Draco's hands curled into fists just thinking about it. No hoity-toity, rich old bat was going to be laughing about his boyfriend over the daily tea!

"Now we only have five hours before the dinner, so you don't have much time to work in. Just cover the basics—what he'll need to get through the night. Everything else we can work on later."

"Father…what…what exactly should I fix? I mean, some of his little mistakes are really adorable…I don't want to get rid of them _all_. I don't want him to be like Blaise or Pansy. I _like_ him a little rough around the edges…" Draco would have gone on, but his voice box had shriveled under his father's narrowed gaze. A Slytherin voice in the back of his head piped up under this gaze, and said, _Ugh, you are such a little Gryffindork. Mistakes are not _cute_. They're _mistakes_. Malfoys aren't _allowed_ to make mistakes during public soirees. Merlin's beard._

"Draco, you might find his roughness attractive, but this isn't about what you want. We all have to give up certain desires in lieu of public appearance. I mean, your grandfather would have loved to sit on a beach in Majorka for a few summers—but this family needs a lot of upkeep, and he knew that he was more useful here than sunbathing. I always wanted to learn how to cook a soufflé, but these things _aren't done_! I don't see why I have to reiterate this—I've been telling you this since you were young! What's gotten into you?"

_Harry, about a hundred times, _Draco wanted to snigger, and then do that sultry wink that Harry did when he was pretending to be crude.

His brain was momentarily distracted, transported into the past, about two months ago. Harry was waiting for him in the Room of Requirement for a little midday fun, but when he walked in he found the Gryffindor in a more playful than lustful mood, sitting lazily on the wide, comfortable couch.

"Ye-_ow_! Hey there, pretty lady!" Harry had exclaimed in a terrible American accent. He turned his chin up and did the wink.

Draco had collapsed automatically into laughter. Harry didn't often get into moods this ridiculous.

"Mm, take it off, sexy, take it _all_ off! Ow-ow-owww!" Harry howled at him like a werewolf, made raunchy faces and kissy noises at him, and kept up that awful winking.

Draco was overcome with the urge to stay in this flimsy memory rather than return to the present, although his father's voice was already drawing him back. But more than anything he wanted to stop time. He felt like he was swimming upstream and the longer he swam the harder it got. But if he just held still—that would be bliss. But relationships, as his grandmother had once told him, were like big things that swam in the ocean (he didn't remember the exact phrasing). They had to keep moving forward to stay alive.

"Draco?"

"I'm listening. Where…where do you think I should start?"

"Well, I would definitely work on his table manners. His crude ways are utterly haunting, but not socially detrimental while we are the only onlookers. In light of tonights formal dinner, they are completely unacceptable. There will be many more dinners like this—Ministry dinners, charity balls, et cetera—so long as you two are together. He has some fame, play that up."

Draco felt himself blanch. There was _no way_ Harry was going to let him play up the Boy-Who-Lived fame. Still, it might be his one redeeming factor should dinner turn into the fiasco it seemed likely to turn into.

"You'll do fine, Draco. Just remember what I've taught you all these years! Harry's a…fairly quick learner. I'm sure he'll pick this all up in no time at all."

Draco didn't doubt that Harry was smart enough to mimic every Malfoy social trait. He did doubt that Harry would want to. Damn his Gryffindor honesty. He wouldn't pretend to be something he wasn't, and so there was no way he'd pretend to be a well-behaved aristocratic socialite.

"I…I guess I should go get started. I've got a lot of work to do…" Draco murmured.

"One moment, Draco. I didn't want to bring it up earlier, what with how much you have to do and all, but I feel I should mention, before the night progresses too far, that you have been slipping a bit, too." Lucius said darkly.

_Oh Merlin_, Draco thought morbidly, _I _am_ going to get The Talk. Fuck._

X

So here he was, nervous over Harry, embarrassed over his own recent lacking of the necessary Malfoy airs. But it was so difficult to juggle it all! His father wanted him to be his old perfect first-year self. Harry hated that kid. Harry wanted him to be sweet and docile and husbandly. Lucius would smack him upside the head for acting like that. What was he supposed to do? He didn't want to be so evil as to push Harry away, but at the same time he didn't want to be so tame as to destroy his hard-earned reputation for evilness.

"Harry?" he called out once he reached his room. He already felt exhausted, and he hadn't even started yet.

Harry didn't respond, and as Draco searched the room, it became apparent as to why: Harry wasn't here.

"What the fuck, Potter?" he shouted. Great! Now he'd have to search all over for the idiot, train him, get him dressed, get himself dressed all in four hours, and then still spend all night on his best Malfoy behavior, _and_ make sure that Harry was on _his_ best Malfoy behavior! Fuck!

"Mepsy!" Draco growled, and the House Elf appeared, looking polished and groomed. Of course this was a big night for them, too.

"Master Draco?" Mepsy asked softly, bowing low enough to touch her nose to the rug.

"Have you seen Harry?"

"Harry Potter? Yessir, Master Draco! Mepsy has seen him!"

"…WELL?! Where is he?! WHERE did you see him? My God, do you have a dirt clod for a brain? Ugh!" Draco raged, wanting badly to smack the creature, but at the same time he hating touching the things.

"He—he was in the billiards room!" Mepsy wailed, seeing just how close she was to getting a beating.

"Get out of here—and stop being a complete idiot!!"

After Mepsy disappeared, Draco stormed to the Billiards Room, growling and scowling the whole way. What the fuck did Harry think he was doing, playing billiards when they had all this work to do? A huge party to get ready for? Completely useless as a boyfriend, more like a small child that was always getting underfoot. Harry better grow the fuck up when they got hitched. Damn it—he had used another one of those stupid Muggle words! God, if he did that during the party he would think of something really atrocious to do to Harry. Something very painful. He wondered what that spell that Weasley had tried to use on him was…that slug thing. Ohhhh, he would do _that_ to Potter!

He flung the door open to the Billiards Room, finally, and sure enough, there was his slacker boyfriend.

Harry unbent himself slowly from the table and smiled at his boyfriend. He leaned one hip against the table and crossed his ankles, hand slipping gently down his cue.

"Hey there, gorgeous," he said soft and sly.

And that was all Draco needed. It was as if his brain had shut down and rebooted into a much more pleasurable mindset.

He pounced, landing on his boyfriend and toppling the boy back onto the table, scrabbling up his frame and attaching himself to the brunette's mouth.

He realized that he was rocking against Harry as he kissed and groped for all he was worth, but he couldn't stop himself.

Only when Draco tugged madly at Harry's leather belt did the Gryffindor stop him.

"Tonight, remember?" Harry panted.

All of Draco's obligations came rushing back to him, and he wanted to sob, not only from want, but from all these burdens being placed more heavily upon him. How could he do this? Harry would hate putting on false airs all night, and pretending that he knew where the bread plate was placed, and which chalice was the wine chalice. But his father would hate it if his entire party and thus his superior social reputation were ruined all because of his idiot son's idiot boyfriend. This night was going to be hell.

"Oh, I remember tonight." Draco sighed, but his mind couldn't be further from Harry's promised bodily-delights. It was currently employed with silverware and bread-and-butter etiquette.

XXXX

A/N: Here it is, short and sucky! Next order, coming right up!


	13. A Malfoy Christmas Party

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh," Harry groaned, dropping his head onto his china plate.

"I don't want to play anymore! This isn't fun," he whined. Draco ignored him and pulled him upright by his hair.

"Knock that off! If you do that during dinner I will seriously murder you." Draco growled. Harry was impeccably dressed, and certainly looked the part of the boyfriend of the heir to the prestigious Malfoy throne, but beyond that, he was completely hopeless.

Draco had been drilling him viciously on all things dinner-related, and Harry was fairly certain that his brain was slowly turning to liquid, and would soon be dripping out of all nearby orifices.

"Oh, yeah, okay. Go ahead and try. Keep in mind, though, that I have escaped Voldemort, his ghost-memory thing, a basilisk, giant spiders, angry centaurs, _and_ hordes of Death Eaters, so, you know, give it your best shot."

"Don't mention anything gruesome about Voldemort. If someone asks you, look shaken up and I'll handle it from there. Don't mention your man-crush on Dumbledore, don't talk about the prowess of the Gryffindor Quidditch team."

"What the fuck am I supposed to talk about, then? Shoes?" Harry grumbled, leaning his head grumpily on his hand.

"Get you elbow off the table!"

"Fuck this! This game isn't fun anymore! How about I just sit up in my room all night like I do when the Dursley's have company, eh?"

"Stop being melodramatic."

"Yessir, Master Draco."

"_Knock it off!_ No being weird tonight, ok? I know you think it's cute, but you are going to be in a room of a hundred pure blood Slytherins, and they are going to be picking out every little flaw in order to look down on us. You need to be perfect tonight, Harry!" Harry was momentarily stung by the insinuation that Draco, indeed, did not find him cute, but was then distracted by the rest of Malfoy's diatribe.

"…What are you talking about, a _hundred_ pure-blood Slytherins?"

"Oh, I was just exaggerating. They won't _all_ be Slytherins."

"A HUNDRED?!! Are you _kidding_ me? _Don't kid me_!" Harry shouted, jumping out of his chair.

"What's wrong?"

"You didn't tell me it would be A HUNDRED people! You said Christmas party—not Yule Ball!"

"Don't be such a drama monarch, the Yule Ball had at least two hundred people."

"Oh Merlin, oh God, oh shit." Harry was murmuring, pacing and pulling at his hair.

"Stop that, you're ruining your hair!" Draco screeched, pulling Harry's hands down.

"I can't do this, Draco. I'm sorry. I can't. A few people, yes, I can more or less deal. But a _hundred_? No, no, I can't."

"But you have to! Harry, everyone knows we're dating—everyone knows you'll be here! They'll think we broke up!"

"I don't—tell them I'm sick—oh God, I _am_ sick—oh, let me sit down." Harry collapsed shakily into his chair, undoing his stiff necktie so he could better take in deep, calming breaths.

"Harry! What the fuck has gotten into you?"

"Apart from a hundred pure-blood Slytherins watching my every move, just itching to watch me fuck up so they can throw it in your father's face and thus prove to him that I am completely useless human being? Nothing, nothing, I'm totally fine." Potter said, laughing in little hysterical gasps.

Draco set his face dangerously and twisted Harry's chair, bending down so he was face to face with his boyfriend.

"Now you listen to me, Potter. We don't have time for you to freak the fuck out. This thing is going to happen, and you are going to be the perfect little obedient boyfriend, just like I'm going to be the perfect little obedient son. Got it? Now let's get back to your atrocious dinning habits. Which is the wine chalice?"

Harry turned dully back to his place setting and touched his hand mechanically to his outside cup.

"And when you want a refill?"

Harry raised his empty cup an inch or two off the table and then tapped it against the wood. It filled halfway with wine.

"And how many cups of wine are you allowed?"

"No more than three."

"_And_?"

"And each has to be followed by a cup of water."

"Good. Now go upstairs and fix that hair of yours. The guests will be arriving soon and we'll have to greet them."

Harry got up glumly and made his way to the stairs.

"And Harry?" Draco called after him. He turned, watching as his boyfriend cleared away the practice place setting. "Don't pout in front of the guests."

Harry could hardly restrain himself from stomping his way up the stairs to his room, his emotions roiling inside of him now that the mechanical-ness was wearing off.

"Looks like a long night with Malfoy instead of a pleasant evening with Draco," Harry growled to himself. Draco he loved, beyond all measure, enough to marry. Malfoy was another story. Malfoy was an unmitigated arse.

Harry wanted badly to pull some passive-aggressive stunt at dinner and somehow end up in a fist-fight with someone prestigious and important to the Malfoy's social stirrings. He knew he wouldn't, because his Draco would hopefully be back soon, and this Draco would be just as pissed off at him as that Malfoy. Not to mention he didn't enjoy being maimed, which was exactly what Lucius would to do him if he fucked up.

"What a suck-ass family." Harry sighed, doing his best to tame his hair, but knowing that Malfoy would pick at it disappointedly no matter what Harry accomplished with it. "Well, Narcissa's pretty awesome. Scary. But awesome." Harry felt this way mostly because, during Harry's training session with Malfoy, Narcissa had stopped by to observe his progress and said to her son, "Remember, dear, that 'boyfriend' is _not_ slang for 'well-trained pet'."

Harry wondered what Draco would do to him if he strapped on a dog collar and a leash. That would be a good passive-aggressive comeback, that would.

But he only sighed heavily, rested his eyes for a moment, steadied his angry breathing, and started back down the stairs to be put through his paces for the company.

XXX

After a quick look over of his hair ("Oh, _Harry_.") and his clothing ("Where did this stain come from?"), Draco had led him quickly from person to person as they arrived, and so there was actually no time for Harry to practice not talking about Quidditch, or Dubledore, or Voldemort, or any of the other things he had been forbidden from bringing up in conversation by his nerve-wracked boyfriend/dog trainer.

There were a few people from school that he knew, but, as Draco had said, they were all Slytherins. Pansy Parkinson had turned up her pug nose at him and didn't say a word in greeting as her parents talked briefly with the Malfoys, and that seemed to be the trend throughout the evening.

"Mr. DeWit, you've met my son, Draco. And this is his…friend, Harry Potter."

"Ah, you could make it." DeWit said to Harry (meaning, in Harry's mind, "Oh, so you're not dead yet."), and that was all that anyone invited had said to Harry so far.

Theodore Nott was there with his father who leered at Harry antagonistically. Harry was hard-pressed to forget his tragic evening at Tom Riddle Senior's grave, and so he in return gave Nott his most intense glare, and was quickly elbowed in the side for it by his so-called boyfriend.

Crabbe and Goyle were there, although Draco barely greeted them—he didn't seem to be as close with them as he had been in previous years, and Harry thought that this perhaps had something to do with him. Draco frequently had to abandon his body guards in order to properly sneak off and be with Harry, and eventually they had stopped following him around at all. This didn't seem to bother Draco. Crabbe and Goyle seemed devastated. Seeing them now, looking like dressed up pigs, Harry thought that they both appeared pale and rather sickly. Harry thought that Goyle was going to sob outright when Draco shunted them off after only a few terse pleasantries.

Daphne Greengrass was also there, a girl Harry had never spoken to once, along with both her parents and her younger sister, a haughty and antagonistic girl of fourteen whom Harry was sure he had never even seen before, despite the fact that she must go to Hogwarts with them.

Blaise Zabini seemed to be the only pleasant person at this party. He was abandoned immediately by his beautiful and mercurial mother—she headed directly to flirt outrageously with a stray wizard who was apparently famous for inventing Spell-O-Tape. Although Harry had never had much to do with Blaise at school, he knew the boy to be gregarious and pretty. He seemed to be the only pureblood that couldn't care less about Muggles or their magical offspring, and Harry himself couldn't remember, even when his popularity was at all time lows, that Blaise had ever _especially_ antagonized or teased him, even though the boy was in Slytherin. This, coupled with the boys easy-flowing charms and conversation, made Harry automatically like him.

This made Draco uneasy.

But Draco had too much on his plate already without adding Blaise Zabini's naturally flirtatious nature to the mix. For some reason every time he spoke he was sure he had used a Muggle phrase or something, and had to check his words over in a panic two or three times before being positive that they were Muggle-free.

Harry wasn't helping matters, glaring at every person he associated with Death Eaters, which was ridiculous, as he was marrying the son of a retired Death Eater. Well, if they survived tonight he would be, anyway. And if he yawned one more goddam time, Draco was going to grab the first Dark curse he could think of and do terrible things to the brunette.

At dinner Harry got to sit near his boyfriend towards the head of the table, but this meant close to nothing as the boy hardly spoke to him, preferring, instead to speak to his father at the head of the table, or Imogen Michaelson, who apparently had an important post at Gringotts, seated beside him.

Harry felt pretty bored, but at least he was being left more or less to himself. The woman to his right was gabbing madly with the man seated next to her, and so he mostly listened in on her hushed gossip. She wasn't gossiping about him, so Draco should be happy.

"You're that kid who didn't die, right?" the man across from him said gruffly. Harry remembered his antique, curled mustache from when they were introduced, but couldn't remember his name at all.

"Uh, yeah, that's me."

He was a tall, spindly man with shocking auburn hair that had molted from the top of his head, leaving a ruddy dome that shimmered in the torchlight.

"Hum," the man said, and that seemed to be the end of the conversation.

"That's Harry Potter, Jeffrey," the woman beside him said delicately and smiled a clipped smile at Harry. "He's a forgetful old man—had an accident with a backfired memory charm while back. I don't feel bad telling you. He won't remember in a second."

"Hum," the man said, and the woman laughed and slapped his shoulder lightly with her napkin.

"I'm Margot Fischer," the woman said to Harry, and smiled a bit more. Harry thought that as long as she was smiling she looked fairly safe, but as soon as the smile was wiped clean she looked exactly like someone he wouldn't want to cross. Without a smile, her face fell down over her bones, as though her skin was too big for her skeleton, giving her a menacing and dangerous appearance, like a heavy-jowled dog. "Narcissa and I were school chums."

Harry liked the woman automatically as she said the word "chums."

"I go to school with Draco." Harry told her, without knowing why, as it must be obvious to her.

"I hear you do a great deal more than just go to school with him." Mrs. Fischer said, winking at Harry as she took a quick gulp of wine.

The woman beside Harry, whom he thought might be called Mrs. Stowell, perked up hearing this, and stilled her conversation to listen in on Harry's.

"Er," said Harry.

"No need to be shy, dear! Speak up!" Mrs. Stowell said. Harry gave Mrs. Fischer a heavy look, and she raised her hands slightly as if to say, "I'm sorry!" but laughed anyways.

After disappointing Mrs. Stowell in her hopes for gossip fodder, she turned her back to him completely, moving her plate away from him so that she didn't have to look at him. Mrs. Fischer was the only thing that got him through dinner without dying of boredom as she told him about her occupation as a clothing designer of dress robes.

"I probably made the one you have on!" she laughed.

"Er, thanks, then. It's nice." Harry had said sheepishly, unsure what one said to the person who sewed and sold the clothes one was currently wearing.

"You're taking good care of it, right? Be careful with your soup tonight!"

Harry was fairly amazed that Margot and Narcissa had been friends growing up in school, as they were so different. Narcissa really only warmed up to you once you had convincingly swore your ever lasting love to her only son. Margot exuded manic warmth and crazed joviality—she was nothing like the average surly or stoic Slytherin. Harry assumed that all of her Slytherin-ness must have been applied to her professional life, and not her social one.

Harry survived dinner without too many embarrassing mistakes. Since Draco's terrifying speech, it felt like the whole table paused their conversation to see which fork he chose or how he buttered his bread (one morsel at a time, thank you very much). He felt eyes on him with every move towards his dining set, although he assumed that these were mostly Draco's eyes as the blonde seemed perched on the edge of his seat, ready to quickly rectify any of Harry's mistakes. It was Draco whom had deftly depleted Harry's wine chalice when he accidentally knocked it twice against the table and made it overflow. It was Draco whom levitated Harry's fork back onto his plate discreetly when it slipped between nervous fingers.

After dinner, Harry was sorry to lose his conversation partner, as Mrs. Fischer went to join her husband in watching a highly volatile game of wizard chess.

Draco guided him into a conversation with an over-energetic wizard in his forties, who, from what Harry could catch through his run-together speech, was overseer of the Malfoy wing of St. Mungo's. The man reminded Harry impossibly of Ron's tiny own, Pigwidgeon.

"Dear, what's the time?" Mr. Hunt's wife came to ask, clearly trying to spend as little time in her husband's presence as need be.

"Half past nine, darling." Hunt answered quickly, and his wife went back to her party.

"Wow, that's a beautiful pocket-watch." Harry awed. It was a small golden thing, but the face was midnight blue, same as outdoors. Harry thought that it might be like the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall—it certainly appeared that way. The miniscule golden hands moved across the murky sky, stopped on tiny pictures shown in windows beneath the pearly white numbers. Right now the hour hand was covering what appeared to be two glasses of champagne that kept toasting. A carriage was located under the number eleven, and a bed under number twelve.

"You like it?! Here! Have it!"

"What—I—I didn't mean—!" Harry sputtered as Hunt undid the watch from his robes and shoved it forcefully into Harry's hands.

"Hey! Meredith! Meredith! Harry Potter's likes my watch! Harry Potter!" Hunt shouted to his wife, who looked seconds away from transfiguring into a leopard and mauling him to death.

"Ha ha ha!" Hunt yelled, and rushed off to find someone else to shout the news to.

"I—but I…" Harry murmured. Draco patted his shoulder distractedly and walked off to chat up Juno Cross, a huge boulder of a man that Lucius was hoping to get instated as their next Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"Having much fun, Harry?" someone asked, and Harry turned to see Blaise Zabini, swirling his chalice of wine and smiling happily.

"Yeah, loads, can't you tell? What am I supposed to do with this?" Harry questioned with exasperation, showing Blaise his recently acquired watch.

Blaise whistled as he approached close to look it over.

"Filius Hunt, eh? Well, I'd just keep it if I were you. Old Filius will raise a stink over ungrateful Gryffindors if you try to give it back now."

"Who just goes around handing out precious artifacts? I'm sorry to tell you this, but you purebloods are just weird."

"Don't I know it. What about you, though? What are you doing turning up at a Death Eater Christmas reunion? Making a tour of the purebloods as a good-will ambassador? I do hope you'll consider my house for next Christmas, Mr. Potter."

Harry laughed and leaned back on the wall behind him, although Draco had specifically warned him about what the blonde would do to him if he were found lounging on or against anything.

"No, I got roped into it by my darling little sneak of a boyfriend."

"Oh, what a cute endearment. I do hope you have something a little more proper for formal occasions."

"Yeah, the Amazing Bouncing Ferrett."

"Oh Merlin, don't let Draco hear you talking like that."

"I hope he does hear me. I feel like having a good long row with him right about now." Harry admitted, and then wondered why he was saying all of this to a boy he had just properly met tonight. It had to be that Blaise seemed so open to conversation, and very understanding of Draco's difficult nature.

"Overdoing his war against public mishaps, is he?"

"Definitely. The worst part is, I know he's not done. He'll be back any moment, forcing me into another conversation about nothing. I honestly don't know how much small talk I have left in me."

Blaise got a sly look on his face and edged close to Harry, murmuring softly, barely moving his lips.

"Well…we _could_ take off."

"_What_?" Harry said, aghast. Blaise looked up at him through his fanned eyelashes, looking excited and devious.

"There are so many people here. Draco wouldn't notice for hours. He'd just assume that he keeps missing you. I don't live far from here. I can't take my mother's carriage, but if we cut through the farms, then it's only about a twenty-minute walk. What do you think, rule-breaker? Better than getting into a blow-out fight with the Amazing Bouncing Ferret, right?"

"I don't know, Blaise. Draco didn't say how long he wanted me to sit through all this."

"Come on, Harry, you're your own man, aren't you? Where's that brave Gryffindor spirit? I think you've suffered enough for one evening. Let's go enjoy ourselves and being young instead of sitting around here making small talk about the best brands of cauldrons with a bunch of stuffy purebloods!" Blaise's energy was infectious.

A slow smile edged itself unstoppably across Harry's face. Well, here was his perfect chance at passive-aggressive retaliation. Plus, it was with one of Draco's friends, so Draco couldn't say that he was being anti-social. It would piss him off just the right amount.

"All right. Let's go."

X

Harry and Blaise set out, climbing the stone wall at the back of the Manor, and cutting across a frozen field of thigh-length grass before reaching a wooden fence and following it for a long time through a pasture. A couple of times Harry climbed up and walked along the top of the rickety fence for as long as he could before invariably slipping off, barely managing to land on his feet most times.

"New record!" Harry crowed jovially, following the fence for so long he had to step carefully over three thick pickets before falling. "You try."

Blaise laughed, but worked his way up the three tiers carefully, wobbling at the top.

"I'm going to fall." Blaise said nervously, trying to keep his balance. He stooped over, holding tightly to the fence with his hands. They seemed intensely luminous and thin to Harry, in the white light of the full moon.

"Here, I'll let you cheat." Harry said, and offered Blaise his hand.

Blaise snatched it automatically, and stood up, walking slowly across the fence, sliding one foot after the other rather than lifting them up.

Harry could see his breath, and hear the sharp shuffle of Blaise's boots on the half-frozen wood, but kept his eyes steady on Blaise's anxious face, holding his arm straight as Blaise's weight kept pressing down against him as the boy wobbled too far on Harry's side. But there was nothing to hold him up when he wobbled to far in the other direction, and Harry saw in his face that he was going to fall, as the eyes went from worried to shocked.

Harry jumped forward and grabbed Blaise around the waist just as Blaise's knee hit hard against the wood, splintering it.

"Oops! I'll have to replace that." Blaise laughed.

"Wow I cannot believe what a terrible trapeze artist you are," laughed Harry.

"I believe it. I'm bollocks on a broom, too. Last time I tried I slid right off the front." Blaise admitted, completely unembarrassed, on the contrary, he seemed to find it hilarious.

"I even let you cheat! You still failed spectacularly."

"Well, at least you admit it was spectacular."

"Is your knee okay?"

"I think I'll live. The wood's just old. It didn't hit that hard. Thanks, by the way, for snatching me out of the air like a Snitch! Do you always hold the Snitch for this long?"

Harry realized that he still had an arm around Blaise's waist, and quickly snatched it back.

"Uh, yeah. You know, Quidditch reflexes. You don't let it go till someone brings it to your attention that you're still holding it. That's the rules." Harry said, red with embarrassment, but Blaise only laughed.

Considering that he was a Slytherin, Harry was amazed at what a good sense of humor Blaise had, how he laughed everything off and seemed to find everything hilarious. Blaise was by far the most cheerful Slytherin Harry had ever met.

"You can see my house now. See it?" Blaise stepped close to Harry, indicating up the heavily forested hill. Dimly, Harry thought he could make out smoke, as if from a chimney. "It's just an abandoned cabin to Muggles. I like that. And it's got a beautiful view. Over the whole valley. It's really gorgeous in the winter, with all the fog over the fields. We have an observation tower, and I go up there sometimes, all bundled up with a giant cup of hot chocolate and watch the sunrise. Ha, is that weird?"

"No, it sounds amazing. I did that at Hogwarts sometimes. The Astronomy Tower."

Blaise smiled at Harry, but didn't look shocked. More like pleasantly surprised that someone shared his tendencies towards romanticism. Draco had used this same admission as teasing material for weeks earlier in the year.

X

"Well, this is it." Blaise said, extending his arms as if embracing his entryway. Blaise's mansion was quite a bit smaller than Malfoy Manor, but looked as if the Zabini's cared much more about what was inside their house than how big said house was. Although half the size of the Manor, it seemed to hold the same amount of things. While the Manor looked sparse and Spartan, the Zabini residence was cluttered and plush and idyllic. It was obvious that Blaise's mother had done all the decorating herself, rather than eons of pureblood forefathers.

There were fine paintings edge to edge over all the walls, gold gilt molding, bright tapestries and rugs, flowers and Baroque mirrors. Harry had never seen so much rich luxury squeezed into one room before.

"My mom gets carried away sometimes. She just likes to enjoy herself." Blaise said, sounding slightly embarrassed. "Um, do you want to come upstairs? My room's not this garish."

"It's not garish," Harry lied. "It's very nice. Where's your room?"

"Up here. Draco always makes fun of it; he says it proves I'm gay, but I guess living with my mom's decorating has made me incapable of having a truly masculine room. So, you've been warned." Blaise laughed.

Harry didn't see anything wrong with Blaise's room, and couldn't figure out why Draco would say that. Draco's room was much more gay that this one.

There was a pale blue fire roaring in the ivory grate. There was a mirror encased in swerving and spindling driftwood above it, and posters on the walls of various wizarding rock groups. There was one of Hogwarts which utterly stupefied Harry—if he had known of a place that sold posters of Hogwarts he would have seriously depleted all their stock by now.

"Wow—where did you get this?!" Harry gasped, looking it over carefully. It was so perfect. It must have been taken at the school gates, you could see lights going on and off in the castle, flickering. It was a clear night, around dusk by the look of it, and Harry thought he could just make out Hagrid far to the right, through the trees. He tried to eye his way to Gryffindor tower—was it that ragged turret with the lights on?

"My mom was dabbling in photography a while back. She gets into moods like that. Well, you met her…sort of."

"Your mom took this?"

"Yeah, it's just developed on poster paper."

Blaise was sitting on his bed (half the size of Draco's; in other words, a sane size), looking over the poster.

"I don't know what I'm going to do when I get out of school and can't go back to Hogwarts anymore." Harry sighed moodily, flopping down next to Blaise.

"Oh sure you do, you'll get a swank little pad and be a famous Auror and go out drinking with all your Gryffindor pals. It'll be the same thing in a different location for you."

"What about you?"

"…I don't know. My mom thinks I'll be staying here, like most pureblood kids do, but I don't think I want to. I mean, I love it here, I really do, it's gorgeous, and out of the way, and relaxing. But at the same time I want to do something outrageous and crazy and dangerous. Do you ever get that feeling?"

"Most of the time my life is dangerous enough without me getting into moods like those. But yeah, I know what you mean. Like you just want to do whatever it is and screw the consequences."

"Exactly, I just was to get myself into a real fix and fight my way out. Ha, that sounds ridiculous. Oh well. I guess I'm allowed to be ridiculous every now and then, right?"

"Why settle for every now and then? I do it all the time."

Blaise giggled slightly and ran his fingertips over his bottom lip, pressing it into his teeth.

"I wonder what Draco's doing right now." Blaise said excitedly. But they fell into laughter before they could be properly afraid of Draco's wrath.

XXX

"Mom, have you seen Harry?" Draco whispered discreetly to his mother as she went to talk to the cooks.

"Harry? I don't know, don't you have a dog whistle? I hear they are extremely effective."

"Knock it off, I'm serious. I can't find him anywhere, and I really need him to talk to Mr. Meiser.

"The last I saw him, he was talking to Blaise Zabini." Narcissa said, obviously enjoying the situation. Draco's spine snapped to attention, stiff as a board.

"_What_?" he growled.

"I'm only telling you what I saw."

"He ditched me for Blaise Zabini?! I'll murder him! I'll murder the both of them! I told him how important this party was to me! What the fuck!"

"Language, darling."

"Why aren't you pissed off about this?! My boyfriend just ran off with another man!"

"Don't be silly. I don't think Harry knows _how_ to cheat on you. He probably just didn't feel like being introduced as your little lap dog. Your grandfather always did the same thing to his wife. She was like a little ventriloquist's doll, "Pleasure to make your acquaintance!" "Pleasure to make your acquaintance!" Well I told your father as soon as I met him that I could be as pleasant as anyone to company, but if he ever treated me like that I would castrate him on the spot."

"Mother!"

"My point is that your father gave me respect that you're not giving Harry. I'd go make amends before Zabini _teaches_ the boy how to cheat on you."

"I can't leave the party! Dad would—"

"Let me worry about your father. It's this party or your boyfriend. Take your pick." Narcissa shrugged easily.

"…I'm going by broomstick."

"Have fun, dear."

X

"Can you pick up Muggle stations on this thing?" Harry asked, revolving Blaise's radio in his hands.

"I'm not sure. I've never tried." Blaise replied, scooting next to him to examine the radio himself.

Blaise said it was weird to be sitting on the bed together—it was very plush and Blaise had kept slipping into the Harry's dent in the bed—so they had moved to the floor.

They lie on Blaise's tiger-skin rug in front of the fire and listened to wizard rock and roll, and then some Christmas music, which reminded Harry of Mrs. Weasley.

"Where did you get this thing?" Harry questioned, stroking the tiger's head, feeling drowsy in the heat of the fire as Blaise sat up to fiddle with the radio.

"Oh, one of my mom's husbands gave it to me. He slaughtered the poor thing in India or someplace. Well, I certainly didn't want him stomping all over it, so I accepted it. I've never seen a tiger up close. Have you?"

"Um, not personally, no. I went to the zoo once when I was about eleven. There was one there."

"What's a zoo?"

"Um…like a place where they keep a lot of animals."

"Oh, like a menagerie?"

"Yeah, I guess. You figure that thing out yet?"

"I'm not sure, is this Muggle music?" Blaise turned around where he was sitting to face Harry, and turned up the radio.

There were high-pitched wailings and shrieks coming from the box.

"Um, no. It sounds just like wizard music, but it doesn't usually specifically reference magic." Harry laughed.

"Hmm." Blaise laughed at his own mistake and flipped through more stations.

Harry thought he heard something like David Bowie, but just then the bedroom door was kicked open.

Harry went automatically for his wand, pushing Blaise to the ground behind him, but noticed white-blonde hair before his curse left his lips.

"Draco! What the hell—you scared the shit out of me! I could have seriously hurt you!"

"Get out of here, Harry. I need to talk to Blaise alone." Draco said icily.

Harry looked back at the slight brown-haired boy sitting up behind him. Blaise didn't look the least bit worried. Indeed, he seemed to find it slightly amusing if his faint smile were any sign.

"It's okay, Harry. I'll bring you to the parlor and you can wait for Draco there. I don't think this will take long."

Draco didn't object to this. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth to object he would lose his cool and start cursing the two of them to infinity. He let Blaise lead the way past him, didn't catch Harry's worried gaze as he passed, he stood perfectly, angrily still.

Once they were far away from the room Draco snarled in his throat, wanting to break everything, wanting to set it all on fire, instead he paced around the room in an angry loop. When he got to Blaise's nightstand, a bitter idea came across him. His father had once told him that you could always tell a person's secrets by what they kept in their nightstand (and had thus made sure that Draco's school nightstand was Spartan in its tenants).

He yanked Blaise's open violently, and immediately wished that he hadn't.

It was an envelope, but bent, as if its inhabitant were too large. Draco's hands shook furiously as he pulled the envelope out. He had seen envelopes like this—pale blue with a Golden Snitch in the corner. It belonged to Colin Creevey, and he knew what to expect to find in an oversized Creevey envelope.

He pulled the pictures free of the pale blue binding, and was not disappointed.

Harry was smiling up at him from the dark photograph. It was from Quidditch practice. Harry must have been walking back up to the castle. He had shouldered his broom, which pulled up his red Seeker T-shirt to show a sliver of bare stomach. His hair was mussed as it was after sex, after flying. There was a glow about him that was obviously from exercise, but Draco knew this glow from other activities too, activities of Harry's that only he was privy to, and that Blaise would have a picture like this—that glow, that hair—angered Draco beyond all expression.

He flipped quickly to the next picture: Harry at the Gryffindor table.

Harry in his pajamas in the Gryffindor lounge, playing wizarding chess with Ron.

Harry shirtless and tussled as he played football with Seamus and the others.

After Harry had grown a few feet, filled out, bulked up, pictures like these had been ogled and heavily sought after; Creevey finally had a use. Pansy had said it was ridiculous, laughable, and Draco had felt the same way at the time.

He was definitely _not_ laughing now, though.

Draco heard the door click behind him and turned, too shocked to hide what he had found.

Blaise's eyes shot from Draco to the pictures, and widened. They slowly drifted back to Draco's, defiantly, boldly.

Draco wanted to shout that he was taking these pictures with him, that Blaise was never allowed to talk to Creevey ever again, and never see Harry for the rest of his life under penalty of mutilation, but didn't. His Slytherin-ness would not allow it. To do any of this would speak of weakness.

Blaise obviously knew this, too. He smiled evilly at Draco.

Draco shouldn't care, he should pretend as if he didn't care, just to show that Blaise could not affect him, that Blaise had no power over him to tease or taunt. But could he really?

He had been going to accuse Blaise, but now accusations were pointless in the face of such obvious truth.

"Since when have you had a man-crush on Potter, Blaise? You only mocked me all summer for it." Draco said levelly.

"Well, you were very persuasive. And descriptive. I figured that a man like that, well, he might not be too bad to have around."

"So what? You think Harry's just going to drop me and date you?" Draco laughed, but Blaise seemed unphased.

"That's the idea, yeah."

Draco suddenly found the entire situation funny. That Harry had proposed to him this very day, and Blaise thought he could undo that. It really was laughable.

Draco tossed the pictures onto Blaise's bed with a mirthful noise.

"You go ahead and keep these. They don't compare." Draco said, and left.

X

Harry wrung his hands on the overly plump settee, made for comfort. It would undoubtedly be doing its job if Harry weren't so tense right now.

"I'm sorry, Blaise, I didn't think he'd be angry with _you_!" Harry had apologized as the brunette got him a drink of water.

"Oh, don't worry about me, Harry. I know how to handle Draco."

"Yeah, well…be careful…" Harry had said fearfully.

Blaise had smiled soothingly at him, and said, "Thank you, I will," before heading back up the wooden stairs.

That had been about ten minutes ago. It felt longer. Draco must be really laying into Blaise.

Suddenly Harry heart light footsteps on the staircase, but it could be anyone. Draco and Blaise were roughly the same size, and their footsteps sounded identical.

"Hey, ready?" Draco asked, jumping the last step buoyantly. Harry's head cocked in confusion.

"Um, yes?" Draco smiled and waved him over.

"Come on then, it's cold and I want to get you home." Draco said jovially.

"Um…are you okay? Blaise didn't jinx your or anything, did he?"

"Nope. I'm jinx-free. I'm just really happy."

"…May I ask why? You seemed pretty upset ten minutes ago." Harry got up nonetheless and followed his boyfriend outside where Draco picked up an abused broomstick from where it had apparently been thrown to the ground.

"I just keep suddenly remembering that we're getting married, and it makes me happy." Draco shrugged. Harry couldn't help but smile either, being reminded of this.

"Hm, well, I guess that is pretty joy-inducing." Harry admitted, and snatched the broom away from his fiancé playfully, jumping on side-saddle like and kicking off a few feet from the ground. Draco hopped on next to him, tucking himself under Harry's arm and forcing the Gryffindor to steer one-handed.

"Where's you cloak?" Harry asked.

"I forgot it. I was kind of in a hurry." Draco admitted sheepishly. Harry took his hands off the broom carefully, and undid his winter cloak, draping it over Draco's shoulders before taking the boy in his arm again.

"Oh you Gryffindors." Draco sighed long-sufferingly, but was smiling smittenly.

"You shouldn't have looked so cold then, if you didn't want my chivalric side peeking through," said Harry as they exited the woods, kicking playfully away from trees.

It was a quiet ride the rest of the way, peaceful, their shined shoes skimming the tops of tall grasses, the moon shining and the sky clear and lit up with a million pin-prick stars, like pellet holes through a tin roof.

Harry felt at ease suddenly, as if nothing were going to go wrong ever again. Everything would be as peaceful as this broom-ride through the fields with the boy he loved, for the rest of his life. His arm tightened around the blonde, and Draco responded by nuzzling Harry's neck, an act he didn't often perform.

Harry would have said, "I love you" but it seemed redundant after that.

X

"If I remember correctly, I promised you a little seeing-to tonight." Harry said softly, dressed in his nightclothes, un-primped and un-preened in time for bed.

Draco smiled up at him, and Harry, for once, thought that Draco looked very young, dressed as he was in Harry's oversized pajamas.

"Can I make a request?" Draco asked shyly.

"Of course. It's up to you tonight—it's your reward."

Drace extended a curled index finger, and Harry hooked it with his—an act between them that roughly translated to "What I'm about to say _never_ leaves this room, and if you _ever_ bring it up, even to me, I'll maul you."

"Will you just hold me? Really tight? I'd really like that." Draco said, blushing and ducking his head.

Harry swept ice-blonde hair out of his eyes, gazing into silver-blue eyes.  
"You don't every have to be shy about asking me to do that." Harry murmured, and Draco smiled before kissing him softly on the lips.

Huddled together in bed, Harry took the blonde deftly against his chest, tucked the blonde head under his chin, and held him tight.

"Mm, tighter." Draco gasped, and Harry did as he was told.

Inducing this violent grip, Harry could only think highly romanticized thoughts, and assumed that Draco must be doing the same, seeing as how the boy was the one who had requested such a mushy act.

He would be mistaken.

Draco's thoughts were much more along the lines of, _Enjoy your fucking photographs, Blaise—photographs can't do _this

XXXXXX

A/N: Ah, nice and long—totally makes up for those last two, eh? Well, I'll pretend it does. Seeing as how I worked so hard, think you could spare some time and leave a couple reviews? Seems fair to me…


	14. Lucius' Turn, aka Strikeout

Draco woke up slowly and very much against his will. What had he been dreaming? Oh well, he never could remember. So long as it was pleasant, that's all that mattered.

He let his eyes slip open a little at a time, drawing the room into gradually better focus. He was curled at Harry's back, and pulled an arm out of the covers to stroke the bare brown skin there, marveling at how white his hand appeared on that background. Harry sighed and rolled his shoulder back, pulling the thick comforter away from his face without waking.

Given this opportunity, Draco propped himself up on an elbow and peeked over his fiancée's shoulder to see his sleep-slack face. Harry always managed to look so peaceful. It was easy to tell when the boy was waking—his brows would knit and he would frown slightly, and then stretch and it was done. Draco wished that they could take sleep draughts and stay in bed sleeping all day. It was always so serene. Even now, half-awake, tranquility seemed to be pulsing through him with every heartbeat.

He lie back down and fit the curve of his scull into the curve of Harry's neck. He liked being able to do this, fit their bodies together like puzzle pieces. He wanted to shove his arms around Harry's chest, but didn't want to wake the boy.

When his brain started working again through the sleep-fog, he smiled evilly. Fucking Blaise. Thinking Draco had lost his Slytherin skills! Thinking he could sneak in with all the manipulation and slyness in his arsenal and take Harry away from him! Blaise had grossly underestimated the blonde in thinking he had let his Slytherin capabilities slip. True, they weren't what they used to be, he had been out of practice for a while now, but, judging by last night, he was still very much in business. He doubted Harry would even remember being angry with Draco over the Christmas party after that lovely show of vulnerability last night. Draco had thought that Harry was going to melt on the spot when he asked, oh so shyly, to be held all night.

Draco chuckled to himself a little. No, he had most certainly _not_ lost his knack. True, Harry wasn't that difficult to manipulate, but this was a battle over Harry, and he had proven, to himself at least, that he still had the skills to win. After all, he had years of extremely volatile history with the Gryffindor, while Harry had known Blaise for all of ten hours. As if Blaise would be able to get Harry to trust him more than Draco, break up with Draco, and then date Blaise—all in two weeks! _Less_ that two weeks! Oh, it really was too much.

Draco was in too good a mood to lie around in bed. He was much too excited now. He sat up slowly in bed and moved onto his knees, overlooking his fiancée with hyperactive joy. Oh, and wearing Harry's pajamas really was an excellent touch; Draco had to give himself a little pat on the back for that one. If he stayed on his game like this, Blaise didn't stand a chance!

Just as Draco was about to push himself out of bed, there was a barely-audible knock on the door and his father immediately put his head through the crack.

"Oh, Draco, you are awake, perfect. Hm, Harry still asleep?" Lucius said scathingly, and a bit too loudly for Draco's tastes. Sure enough, Harry grumbled and rooted around until his head was mostly under his pillow.

"Yeah, did you need something?" Draco whispered.

"Yes, well, I have business in town, and I thought you might like to join me," said Lucius, not lowering his voice.

"Okay, I just need to get dressed. I'll meet you in the Hall?"

"Fine, fine. Make it quick."

Draco quickly slipped out of bed and out of Harry's comically large pajamas, making sure to keep quiet and not wake Harry. There was no reason for the boy to wake up this early; it was still an hour before breakfast. He left the brunette a quick a note and kissed him lightly on his neck as his head was under the pillow, and left with his father for London.

_All right, Lucius_, the man thought as he and his son stepped into the carriage, _your turn._

And, seeing as how he was short on time, he made sure to lose none of it.

XXX

Harry awoke groggily and pulled his head out from under the suffocating goose-down pillow, stretching tall. Draco wasn't around, and he didn't hear the shower running, so he assumed that he must have grievously overslept and Draco had gone to breakfast without him. Draco was notorious for not waking him. At first Draco had made it seem that he did it on purpose to make Harry late for classes or other various meetings, but over time it had become apparent that the blonde just couldn't manage, in his heart of hearts, to force Harry into wakefulness.

Harry smiled. Cute little sweet demonic boy. Who would have thought that someone so bad could be so good?

Reaching for his glasses, Harry's hand ran over a piece of parchment.

_Gone to London with Father on business. Be back eventually._

_Happy Almost Christmas._

_I love you,_

_-Draco Potter_

_Is that enough enticement to get you to jump my bones tonight?_

_PS. Stop making me say odd Muggle things._

Harry smiled and put the note away, shimmying his way out of bed and into the shower. Well, now what would he do today with no Draco to torment? Breakfast seemed like a good idea, as his stomach growled loudly. He hadn't eaten much dinner the night before, as more often than not he had no idea what had been put on his plate, or in other cases the knowing was what made it impossible to eat. Draco certainly hadn't seemed happy about that.

Oh, but he didn't want to think about that awful dinner. He was glad it was over, and didn't want to spend all morning dwelling on it. Besides, Draco had seemed adequately sorry for his actions. Sure he maybe didn't apologize in so many words, but dating Draco had taught Harry to look past words (or lack thereof), and Draco's actions last night said clearly enough that he was sorry. Well, maybe not the part when he stormed into Blaise's bedroom, but afterwards, the Please-Hold-Me-Really-Tight-I'd-Like-That part, well, it made it apparent that Draco felt badly for bossing Harry around all night.

Harry put the dull aristocratic event out of his mind and got himself dried off and dressed before going down to breakfast.

Narcissa was there in the breakfast nook, still dressed in her peach-colored silk nightgown, a creamy robe thrown over it. Her white-blonde hair was pulled back sloppily, and she was sucking jam off her thumb.

"Hello, Harry!" she said in a sing-song voice around her thumb.

"Hi, I didn't know breakfast was going to be so informal or else I would have stayed in my pajamas, too." Harry laughed.

"Well, with no husband around to look proper in front of, I decided not to bother. After all, you're not going to tattle on me, are you?"

"My lips are sealed." Harry swore, zipping his mouth closed. Narcissa smiled and went back to her toast.

"What are you up to today with no boyfriend around to entertain you?"

"I was wondering the same thing. I…do have some last-minute shopping I could get out of the way…"

"Diagon Alley?"

"Yes. Want to join me?"

"Hm, and get dressed? Well, I guess I might as well. So, what did you get Draco for Christmas?"

"Um, some potions stuff. He's really hard to shop for, you know that, don't you?"

"Ah, what can you get someone who has everything? It can be very difficult. I have the same trouble with Lucius—he's hardly interested in anything as it is, and since he runs the finances, he can buy himself anything he really wants."

"So what did you get him?"

"Lingerie."

Harry's orange juice sprayed the table, and Narcissa cleared it away without looking up from her latté. She did deign to pat Harry's back as he coughed and sputtered.

"I—I so didn't need to hear that!" he choked, eyes watering as acidic orange juice scorched the linings of his lungs.

"Well, married couples sometimes need a little pick-me-up in the bedroom. I used to use Pepper-Up potion, but I think this will work just as well. Tell me the truth, Harry, I'm attractive, aren't I?"

"Er."

"Generally speaking, come on, you can tell me. I can take it." Narcissa said dangerously, and Harry thought it better to answer the woman than lose all his limbs.

"Well, um, ignoring the fact that you're my boyfriend's mother, and twenty years my senior, yes, you are very attractive—in a non-creepy way."

"Of course. All right then," Narcissa said, calming down. "Well, I'll go get dressed, and we can Apparate to Diagon Alley. Meet me in the Entrance Hall?"

XXX

"You…you want to know about me and Harry?" Draco asked, accidentally gulping down an ice cube with his water.

"Of course I want to know about you and Harry! You two little lovebirds, and don't pretend like you don't want to tell me. When I met your mother I talked the ear off anybody who would listen!"

Draco blushed sheepishly. "It would be nice to have someone to gush to. No one in Slytherin wants to hear a word about it. But don't you mind? You always said that Malfoys Don't Gush."

"Malfoys Don't Gush to _Strangers_, dear boy! Now, I'm no stranger, am I? Eventually you'll have to gush to someone or explode, and what good are you to the family if you're in bits? No, no, I think it much better that you gush."

"Well…what exactly am I allowed to gush about? I mean, what are my limitations here?" Draco asked smartly. With his father, it was always better to ask.

"Anything, absolutely anything at all! I'll get you started—what annoys you about Harry?"

"What? _Annoys_ me?"

"Yes! Surely there's _something_." Lucius focused on his lobster bisque in order to insure that Draco didn't see the maniacal glint in his eyes.

"Oh, I don't know. Normal stuff, I guess. The same stuff that used to annoy me. But it's Christmas Eve, I don't want to talk about how he _annoys_ me."

Lucius's hand nearly bent his spoon double with frustration.

"All right, all right—it was only a suggestion! What _do_ you want to talk about? How much you _love_ him I suppose?"

"You said I could gush about anything!" Draco growled.

"And you can, you can, of course you can, go on, why do you _love_ him?" Lucius backpedaled immediately. No reason to antagonize the boy, he didn't want to be found out, better to go about it through the backdoor, no reason to be so blatant about it.

Draco blushed hotly.

"I don't want to aggravate you. I know you don't like mushy stuff like this," he murmured.

"Nothing of the sort! If you can't talk about these sorts of things with your own dear father, then I seriously doubt your level of adoration for this Potter boy! I was nearly insane with gabbiness over your mother."

Draco had a hard time imagining his father in this way, but could not turn down this challenge.

"He absolutely adores me—how could I not love him?"

"Easy! Severus adores me, but you don't see _us_ sharing beds." Lucius waved off Draco's immediate cringe at the thought.

"That's different. That's _gross_."

"Yeah, well, as your father I can tell you that the same goes for you and that boy."

"Is not. We're both completely gorgeous. Not like Slimey Snape."

"Ha. We used to call him Snivellus."

"You and he…never…did you?"

"EUGH! Of COURSE not! Do you see left-over grease marks on me, for Merlin's sake, how could you ASK such a thing?! YUCK!" restaurant patrons all around jumped in their seats and spilled expensive wine.

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry! God, and Harry says _I'm_ dramatic!" Draco hissed.

"He calls you names?" Lucius snarled, jerking up in his chair.

"Oh, please, Father." Draco groaned.

"What does he call you?"

Draco was growing annoyed with his father by now, and he thought he knew the best way to get back at him: give him what he wanted.

"No repercussions? I tell you what you want to know and it stays at this table when we leave—you better act the part of a man Obliviated or I'll turn you into a man Obliviated." Lucius got chills hearing this from his son—sometimes the boy was so much like his mother!

"Deal. Now, what does he call you?"

"I don't know. Lots of stuff. Princess mostly." Lucius choked on his own spit, and had the overwhelming idea that some things are better left unknown. "Sunshine, pretty-boy, sex-machine, but that's fairly recent. Sweet-thing, honey, dear (but only when he's miffed), Master Malfoy (but only when I'm one comment away from getting hexed). Sn—"

"I'm not talking about _pet_-names, Draco. What _mean_ things does he call you?"

"_Mean_ things? I'm not sure. Sometimes he calls me bitchy. But I am very bitchy sometimes. Catty, spoilt, impatient, dramatic, Prima Donna, evil, forged out of the fires of Hell."

"Does Potter ever…hurt you, Draco?"

"Only when I want him to," he replied easily. Oh, this really was too much fun. He wondered if he could make his father's face go more reddish-purple than this.

"Eugh! Enough! Enough! I give up! Please, no more!"

"You asked."

"Yes, yes, I did. And I'm sorry! Ugh—what sort of perversion have I spawned?"

"Oh, please, Father. It's only _spanking_. It's very mild compared to some couples. Did you know that Pansy Parkinson let that boy Montague tie her up and take pictures? It was all over school for a while, until Mr. Parkinson hexed Montague to hell and back. It was quite a show."

"You two don't do anything like that do you?" _Although I wouldn't mind hexing Potter to hell and back…_

"No, unfortunately. Harry's afraid of it ending up like the Parkinson Fiasco. Ruining it for everyone, that whore."

"But…why on earth would you want to be _spanked_?" Lucius hissed in a barely audible whisper. "Your mother and I _never_ struck you!"

"I know that. I'm not sure why I like it. There's just something about Harry when he's angry—and he has to be angry, he won't do it unless I've done something really horrible and require due punishment. It does make things difficult, that—I had to hex Ron straight to the face, and he's was evil to me for weeks for it."

"He _punishes_ you?" Lucius had just regained his voice from the shock—his entire parenting scheme had been based on _not_ punishing Draco, and here came a young upstart actually _hitting his son_!

"Well, _now_. The first time I wouldn't really call punishment. Maybe torture? Enticement? I'm not sure."

"_Torture_?" Lucius was having an aneurism. He was sure of it.

"He wanted me to say _please_." Draco sniggered, smiling happily at the memory. "He thought a good spanking was an excellent way to teach me manners. I think it did work in the end, though, so maybe he knows what he's doing."

"Gah…ah!" was all Lucius could say, and Draco smiled smugly at him across the table.

"There, have you had enough? Now stop asking me silly questions. Your father wouldn't have asked all this—he knew there are some things better left unknown. I don't want to know the particulars of your and mom's sordid sex lives, and you shouldn't want to know mine, either. I'm seventeen, and I officially have a sex life—I know I used to tell you everything, but, as I think I've just proven, neither of us want that sort of openness to continue into the realm of sex."

"Yes, yes, you're right. Quite right," Lucius said weakly, wiping the cold sweat from his brow. "So…none of that was true, right? You were just proving your point, right? Draco?"

"Here, Father, you're out of tea. Let me refill that for you."

XXX

"Oh, Harry, I'm just going to run in and see if they have that black ensemble on the mannequin in green." Harry looked where Narcissa was pointing, dragging her arm and all the bags attached to it heavily into the air—a wizarding lingerie store.

"Um, I'll meet you in the café?" Harry said, blushing deeply.

"Yes, yes, perfect. I'll just be a minute."

Harry parted from the woman, and was about to make his way into the café nearby when he suddenly caught sight of the store across the lane and had a marvelous idea.

XXXXXXXXX

A/N: That's all this time! I'm pretty miserable now that I have to wake up early again, but I will not let my work reflect my mood! But there is something you can do to help the situation, ladies and gentlemen (I'm guessing mostly ladies)—review! It only takes a moment, but it brightens up the pre-solar hours of my day, which I now have to be awake for. Suggestions? Things you cannot let this story end without seeing/reading? Then friggen tell me! I'm not a mind-reader! Sheesh.

Um, sorry for that outburst. Like I said. Miserable.

Review!

(please)


	15. Happy Early Christmas

Lucius had unfortunately given his word that Draco could gush about Harry as much as he needed, and Draco was apparently taking full advantage of this fact

Lucius had unfortunately given his word that Draco could gush about Harry as much as he needed, and Draco was apparently taking full advantage of this fact. Although Lucius' word didn't mean much to him, Narcissa had sworn that if he ever reneged on a promise to, understanding with, or allowance in regard to their son, she would rig him up by his entrails. In all of Draco's seventeen years, Lucius had kept in line with Narcissa's prescription, but at the moment he was seriously considering how much his entrails really meant to him.

"_Daaaaaaaaaddd_, you're not listening!" Draco whined.

"What? Of course I'm listening." Lucius said, voice wavering. Oh Merlin, his voice was wavering! Draco really had struck upon a brand new form of torture: talking his ear off.

"Oh yeah? What did I just say?" Draco grumbled as they left Knockturn Alley for its more goody-two-shoes counterpart.

"You were saying how much Harry likes Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, and that his favorite flavor was Chipper Chocolate Cherry." Lucius said dully, hoping that a quick Obliviate would rid him of all this maddeningly useless knowledge.

"Yes, well, like I was saying…" Draco continued happily.

_Please, please Merlin, I'm begging you. MURDER ME. Murder me NOW!_ Lucius' brain screamed inside the confines of his scull.

XXX

Draco was upset that they had gotten back so late—barely in time to start Christmas Eve dinner. Talking about Harry nearly all day had made him miss the boy incomprehensibly. Luckily his father had decided to cut their journey short and thus they made it back at a reasonable hour. To think that his father had planned to go all the way to Bristol to speak with his realtor on Christmas Eve! By carriage! He wondered what had made his father change his mind.

Well, in any case, it would be good to spend some alone time with his fiancée. Between all that tension over the party, and that drama with Blaise, and then being gone all day, it felt as if he hadn't spoken to the boy in ages. To think that only yesterday he was being pounded into a dusty barn floor! It hardly seemed to be part of this lifetime.

He had forgotten how tedious his father's work could be, all overseeing and monotony. Meeting with one person after another for hours—how dull. The sparks where his father actually got to be manipulative and forge the family name ahead in the world were really so few and far between—all the rest was upkeep, looking the part, and sucking up. And yet, after his father was gone, he'd be the one doing all that drudge work! He felt momentarily jealous that Harry would be off fighting powerful wizards while he was stuck in office buildings meeting with realtors and bank goblins and architects. Oh, but to invest and watch all that money multiply, with hardly any grunt work at all! He certainly enjoyed _that_ part of the job.

Just as dessert was coming to a close, Lucius suddenly pushed up from the table.

"Come, Draco, there's work to be done, yet," he said through grit teeth and a strained face.

"Oh, Lucius, on Christmas Eve?"

"Daaaadddd, I've hung out with you all day! I want to hang out with Harry now!"

"Well, when there's work to do there's work to do." Lucius said resignedly. Draco gave a distraught glance to his mother, emotions quickly changing as he saw that cat-fight look on her face.

"_Sit down, Lucius._ No one is working on _Christmas Eve_! The mansion and all our wealth is not going to fall about our ears just because you take _one day off_!"

"Fine! We'll just see about that!" Lucius growled poutily, throwing himself back into his chair and tossing his arms over his chest.

"Why don't you two boys go upstairs and play? Your father feels like throwing a tantrum and I wouldn't want you two young and impressionable children witnessing the consequences his actions are going to garner." Narcissa said, demeanor turning eerily calm.

"Yes, ma'am." Harry murmured meekly, and fled from his seat, Draco fast on his heels.

"Holy shit is my dad going to get the stuffing beat out of him!" Draco exclaimed as they jogged up the stairs, trying to ignore the loud noises coming from the dining room.

"Surely your mom wouldn't hurt him on Christmas Eve…"

"He threw a fit when he turned forty and she took him out back and tossed him in the lake. Said that the best way to get over a mid-life crisis was to pick up a new hobby and he should start with learning how to swim. The house-elves had to fish him out. It was pretty frightening."

"Remind me to never piss off your mom."

"If you need reminding then you're a lost cause. Not pissing off my mom has to be an inborn reflex to permanently escape her wrath." The boys laughed together, and Draco appreciated how easy this banter was between them. He had never told anyone about his father's 40th birthday fiasco, but Harry always managed to take these freakish admissions in stride. "What have you been doing all day?"

Only then did Draco remember Blaise, and his hands tightened convulsively thinking that Harry had been once again unwittingly opening himself up to that pesky boy-smitten Blaise.

"Oh I got some last minute Christmas shopping out of the way, explored the Manor some, worked on my billiards skills. How about you?"

"Ugh, completely tedious stuff—family business, et cetera, et cetera. Show me some of your billiards moves and I'll tell you all about it."

"On Christmas Eve? You must get your sadism from your mother."

XXX

Draco allowed himself to stare at Harry's long lithe body in all its manageable height as the boy paced predatorily around the billiard's table, scoping out the best shot. His eyes had gone tight and intense as they did during Quidditch, as they did during other…er… semi-rapacious pass-times. Despite the fact that this gaze was not focused on him, Draco found himself growing warm just being in its presence, and completely incapable of focusing on billiards.

"Hey! Can you hear me? I said it was your turn." Harry laughed, the sharpness of it bringing Draco back to his senses.

A quick glance at the clock gave him a better idea of how to spend his time than knocking balls around on a table.

"Forget billiards. I want to give you something." Draco purred, setting aside his cue.

"Hm, and what could that be?" Harry asked, but seemed good-natured about it, although there was no way he could be ignorant of the leanings of Draco's desire. This was as much consent as Draco needed, and he pressed himself tightly to Harry's body, wrapping the boy's arms around his own waist.

"I want to give you a little Christmas present. Just a few hours early, understand?" Draco said, brushing his lips provocatively against Harry's as he spoke, wrapping his arms around the boy's neck.

"I do have something I could give you a bit early, too." Harry whispered back, tongue darting out to wet his lips and accidentally (?) swiping Draco's, sending a shiver up and down his spine.

"Then we're in agreement?" Draco questioned, teasing his hands into ink-black locks.

Harry didn't answer, but pushed himself forward that last centimeter, pressing his lips soundly against Draco's. That was really all the answer Draco needed.

X

Draco easily could have led Harry back to the relative safety of their bedroom, and taken full pleasure in their carnal delights there. But Draco had a bigger, better, more delicious idea.

Even before he had taken up with the brunette he had had one particularly far-fetched fantasy. Anytime Harry shoved him over a desk he imagined it was that desk, and every time Harry drilled him against a bookcase he pretended it was that bookcase. Although just a year ago this fantasy had seemed infinitely impossible, Draco was now finding it to be delectably close at hand.

Draco, who had never thought this day would come, was brimming with an excitation that even Harry's troublesome curiosity couldn't squash.

"What is this place?" Harry whispered as Draco led him into the study by the hand. Draco couldn't have questions like that running about.

"Now, now, Mr. Potter, do we really want to waste our time together asking silly questions?" Draco turned and molded himself to his boyfriend, looking up at him through his eyelashes in that devastatingly sultry way that he knew Harry could never resist. "Isn't there something you'd rather my mouth be doing than answering trivial questions, hmmm, Harry?"

Harry didn't respond, but neither did he re-ask his question. Draco wished that he had a chalk board in order to put a little tally mark under his name. Draco-1, Harry-0.

"Good, now do me a little favor—just lie back, and let me take care of everything." Draco sighed over Harry's jumping pulse-point, moving down to kiss that perfect spot where his collarbones met.

Then Draco pushed the boy away, and Harry, coming out of his daze slightly, moved back and lie across the tall plush chair and its matching ottoman, letting his knees bend over the edge.

Draco stood a little ways off and watched as Harry settled himself in with jerky movements. Oh, it was all too perfect to take in—to see his fantasy come about so exactly. He took it all in slowly, wanting to make it last: the soft lighting from the ornate lamp beside the chair, the books lining the wall, and there, behind him and near the fireplace, that desk, so there that he could feel its presence like a palpable thing, like a person staring at him. He had the urge to flip off that palpable presence, but instead he smirked evilly and stalked towards Harry.

"Are you ready, Mr. Potter?" Draco asked softly, and Harry audibly gulped before he nodded. Draco straddled the boy's hips, removing his glasses carefully before folding them and slipping them in Harry's shirt pocket. His hands roamed Harry's chest before meeting at the perfect, clear buttons running in a row from Harry's throat to his cock, unbuttoning them slowly, reverently, teasing himself with every new inch of flesh he exposed. He bent himself low, lips caressing this new flesh, welcoming it to world outside Harry's cloaking vestments.

Harry's heart beat against his lips, and he set his cheek against its thrumming, listening carefully, feeling how strong and indefinite it was. No, it wouldn't be giving out any time soon; it wasn't going to let him down and leave him lonely.

_Keep up the good work, _he wanted to whisper to it.

Draco sat back up, looking carefully into Harry's eyes, clouded into a darkened green by lust and love. He kissed his lips delicately before moving off him, kneeling on the floor. He pushed Harry's legs onto either side of him and moved into the gap between them, unbuttoning Harry's last few buttons and splitting the shirt open wide, taking in all the delicious, dark flesh before kissing the spot right above Harry's trousers, undoing the last button keeping him from his prize.

Harry sighed and groaned, his head tossing fretfully as Draco paused again without unzipping him and thus easing the obvious tightness of his fine black trousers. Instead, Draco pressed his cheek to the bulge, nuzzling it.

Harry's breath was coming in a harsh series of pants, and Draco was hardly less affected, although he strove not to show it, strove to keep his mind clear—better able to take it all it, see it clearly, remember it distinctly. He wanted no moment of this interaction lost to him later at the fault of an overactive libido and under-active sense of self-control.

"Tell me what you want, Harry." Draco breathed hotly through the fabric. The Gryffindor groaned low and tortured in his throat, hands twisting the edges of the chair cushion.

"Do you want me to suck you off?" Draco questioned, going easy on his lover.

"Mmm, yes, yes!" Harry grit out. Draco smiled and eased the zipper down with his mouth, hands running hot paths up the back of Harry's thighs. He was immediately met with that heady, musky smell of Harry's that always seemed like a homecoming to Draco in these few moments.

It was nothing he would want Harry to know, but, despite its infrequency of happening, Draco actually enjoyed giving blowjobs—to his boyfriend at least; he had never done it with anyone else, and he wasn't sure that he would appreciate the taste or smell of any other boy. Blowjobs had been one of the few sexual favors Malfoys were told to approach with wariness. While most of the time Malfoys were allowed any ploy in order to procure favor, allowances, or other political assurances, blowjobs were seen, if not completely out of the question, then at least as a last resort.

Draco had repeated this unspoken rule to Harry, and the boy seemed, although slightly disheartened, to at least understand. There were things that he wouldn't do with Draco (the harsher of Draco's BDSM fantasies, for one), and so it was to be expected that there would be some things Draco wouldn't want to do either. If blowjobs were one of those things, then Harry would just have to accept that, and he did. Thus, it was always a bit of a pleasant surprise when Draco occasionally dropped to his knees before him and got to work.

The fact that Draco usually enjoyed these infrequent sexual displays was a moot point. There were things Malfoys enjoyed and _never_ did, and Draco was just thankful that blowjobs weren't one of _those_.

But now, well, he was going to enjoy this for all it was worth, and, he decided in an impulsive moment, he would enjoy it whenever the desire struck him. Malfoys weren't supposed to bottom to Gryffindors but he did that often enough. In fact, there were plenty of Malfoy rules he continually ignored in order to thoroughly enjoy Harry. He was just going to have to add "giving blowjobs" and "marrying half-bloods" to that increasingly long list.

Smiling, Draco pulled Harry's achingly hard length free from his boxers and did what made both him and Harry extremely happy.

"Ohhhh, Draco!" Harry moaned, biting his lower lip viciously.

Draco groaned in response around Harry's cock, and the boy cried out softly, hips bucking.

Draco pulled up, instead opting to run his tongue in broad swipes up the underside of that ruddy shaft, imprinting every dip and bulge of every vein distinctly through his tongue and into his memory.

Harry was murmuring complete nonsense now, as Draco showed devoted attention to the base of that shaft before moving back to the head. Draco wasn't sure how long Harry was going to last. He thought it might be because the Gryffindor didn't get much practice time with his stamina in this arena, but Harry never lasted long against the onslaught of Draco's devilish mouth. Draco took this as a personal compliment regarding his oral abilities, which might be another reason why he enjoyed this act so much.

In any case, though, Draco wanted to make sure he got what he wanted before Harry did.

"Harry," Draco murmured breathily against the boy's saliva-slick shaft, cooling it entrancingly. Harry made a groaning noise, but Draco couldn't be sure whether this was in response to his words or his actions. "I want you to do something for me, okay, Harry?"

Harry swallowed hard and nodded, chest jumping with each unsteady breath.

"I want you to put your hands in my hair, okay, Harry? If you do that for me, then I'll do something nice for you, too." As if to prove this, Draco began to place open-mouth kisses up and down Harry's twitching cock.

"Okay," Harry gritted out, but failed to respond beyond that. Draco smiled happily, enjoying what lengths of incomprehension he could drive Harry to. He unfastened Harry's gripping hand from the tortured cushion and placed it gently atop his own head, taking pleasure in the way that hand automatically clutched his frail blonde locks tight.

"Good boy," Draco whispered, and then, in repayment, took all of the boy that he could deep into his mouth. Harry cried out and his hips surged upwards, but Draco had anticipated this, and pinned them down forcefully. Thus, Harry did the only thing Draco had left available to him, and Draco's heart surged in eagerness for Harry to realize this one availability.

Harry's hand tightened in Draco's hair and then pulled the blonde's mouth further down his cock. Overjoyed, Draco released the captive hips, letting them thrust as deep into his mouth as they would, his freed hands going down to his own eager erection and giving it the slight encouragement that it needed to let lose its barely contained orgasm just as Harry's hips did the same for the brunette.

Draco swallowed as much as he could, but enjoyed that shocking moment when he was sure he was going to choke and began to cough, cum dripping from his newly freed mouth.

Harry lay splayed bonelessly before him, and he wiped his mouth discreetly on his cuff before untangling Harry's fingers from his hair. His body was tingling with jubilation and the aftereffects of a perfect orgasm as he tucked Harry back into his boxers. Draco bounded up to lie beside his panting boyfriend, feeling awake and wonderful, both excitingly controlled and delectably controlling.

While Harry seemed content to lie there and regain his breath, Draco felt the overwhelming need to laugh raucously, learn how to do a back flip or a cartwheel, something grand and slightly obnoxious.

Instead he kissed Harry hard on his mouth and jumped from the chair, bouncing over to his father's desk, eyeing it rebelliously before jumping to sit on its edge.

_Next it'll be you, _he thought sinisterly towards the expensive thing, and imagined Harry shoving him over its edge and yanking off his clothes, the way Harry would dive into him mercilessly and attack his throat with those sharp teeth of his; he saw distinctly the angry red marks on his throat, just as they had looked early on in their relationship. He grinned menacingly before glancing to where Harry was slowly sitting up.

"Holy shit." Harry said blearily, hair even more disheveled than normal, and Draco laughed out loud.

Harry stood somewhat shakily and did his clothes back up before dragging himself over to where Draco sat.

"Once you get over your little thing regarding my dad, you're going to fuck me breathless over this desk, got it?" Draco teased, feeling lively and joy-ridden. Harry only smiled, his eyes going soft like they sometimes did when he was thinking about something especially sappy.

"Well, do you want your Christmas present now?" Harry asked happily.

"Ohh, do I." Draco purred, wrapping his legs loosely around Harry's waist, wondering what the boy had in store for him. But Harry wasn't looking at him—instead he was looking at a spot between their chests.

Draco jerked his gaze down to see what could be so interesting, and his entire body went numb.

Harry was holding a tiny black velvet box between them.

Draco's heart had stopped. He was sure of it. He looked quickly up to Harry, but the boy was only smiling slightly, watching him and apparently enjoying the reaction.

"Open it," he suggested, voice soft.

Draco's hands were shaking as they took the box carefully; he evened his breathing and worked up the nerve to open it, opening his eyes only after he had heard that quiet snap of a box hitting the dead end of a hinge.

Nestled in a bed of stark white, was a ring.

Draco didn't think he'd be able to bring himself to touch it, and so he stared at it instead. It was shaped like two bands of rope, intertwined—one silver and one gold. He remembered himself and swallowed. He realized that Harry was speaking.

"I don't know if the meaning translates, but in the Muggle world I guess it would be a high-end promise ring. I suppose that's the same as an engagement ring, though, right? It means that I promise we're going to get married, basically. That seems dumb, I guess: I promise to promise to love you forever. I just—" but that was as far as Harry got.

Draco snapped the box shut and lunged at the brunette, arms grappling around his neck, holding tight and fast.

"I love it." Draco said thickly, willing himself to not be so Hufflepuff as to cry. "I love _you_." Draco sat back and laughed, sniffling. Harry seemed happy at this, smiling broadly.

"Here," he said, opening the box again and taking the tiny ring delicately between his fingertips. Draco blinked his eyes clear as Harry took his left hand and slipped the ring down to the base of his ring finger easily. "Whew, it fits. I can't believe your fingers are so thin! That ring is tiny."

"Oh, shut up, Potter." Draco whispered, and kissed him soft and deep, slipping his arms around his neck and letting Harry slip his arms around Draco's waist.

"I love you." Harry murmured softly against his shoulder.

"Oh God, I love you, too." Draco sighed, and he didn't think there would be ever be anything more important to say.

Besides maybe, "I do."

XXXX

A/N: Holy shit that was sappy! Well, I like some sap. This is going to have to last you for a few chapters—we're getting down to the nitty-gritty and I'm not sure there's going to be much sap to go around in the near future. Bask in it whilst you can!

Also, do the Christian/karmatically positive thing and REVIEW!


	16. The Presents Cometh

The two boys made their way giddily up the main stairs, turning down the hall to the west wing, too absorbed in one another to notice the tall, black-clad figure making its way silently out the front door.

The figure tread carefully over the loose rocks of the garden path, straight through the black iron gates at the Manor entrance, clouds of white breath pluming in discernable smoke-signals, appropriately reading something like this: _I'm up to no good_.

Once on the snow-covered country road, the figure checked both ways—robes swinging with the movement of a body, and disappeared with a barely-audible _pop_.

X

Only a mile away, Blaise Zabini stamped the cold out of his feet on his front stoop. He sighed with melodramatic relief when that same black figure popped back into sight a few yards off.

"Come on, it's freezing out here," he said, managing to make his impatience felt in presence rather than in words or tone.

"Why didn't you just cast a warming charm?" Lucius questioned, slipping off his heavy cloak in the entry way. He had never been inside this particular Zabini residence, and it was hard for him to ignore his surroundings on basis of politeness.

"I'm not of age, yet." Blaise muttered. "We're not here to discuss my age and its subsequent limitations. How did you fare today with the blonde boy-toy?"

Lucius' body tightened like a strained cord.

"My son is _not_ a _boy-toy_," he growled. Blaise's careless anger was waning as he warmed in front of the roaring fire in the parlor, and he laughed musically. Lucius immediately felt more lenient with the boy's tactless parlance.

"No, no, of course not. And we're keeping him that way, am I right?" Blaise questioned, smiling graciously.

Lucius seated himself on the settee, sinking into its overstuffed depths.

"Er…right…right," he murmured.

Blaise perked dangerously at Lucius' tone—like a predator hearing the cry of distressed prey.

"You're not having second thoughts, are you, Lucius?" he asked darkly.

Lucius twisted his mouth around, not missing the way that Blaise's hands gripped the arms of his chair.

"No, no…not…not _second_ _thoughts_, per se. Just…well, I was just wondering…I mean, obviously I don't want Draco to be _completely_ Hufflepuff in sentiments…but at the same time I don't want him to be some loveless freak of nature, like…" he didn't say the name, the unnamable name, but he thought that Blaise understood who he meant.

"Surely you'd prefer your son _alive_, Lucius?" Lucius didn't respond, seeing his answer as self-evident. "Loveless freakishness is going to be the least of all concerns when a particular loveless freak comes knocking at the Potter residence—and we both know he will. What we are deciding now is whether or not Draco will be at that residence when the time comes, are we not?"

"Well—the same goes for you! Why aren't you concerned for yourself? You want to take Draco's place, right? You'll be taking his place on the butcher's block as well." Lucius said hotly.

Blaise only smiled, leaning sensually back into his chair.

"I don't worry about things that aren't going to happen." Lucius opened his mouth to object to this contradiction, but Blaise's lazy look stopped up his throat. "I'm going to enjoy Potter for as long as he's enjoyable, and afterwards I don't see why I should want to keep much acquainted with the boy. A certain habit of attracting Dark Lords will probably stop being enjoyable right after seventh year is done, or perhaps slightly after that, depending on Dumbledore's plans."

"You're going to do all of this, then, for six months of…enjoyment?" Lucius gawked.

"Oh, I plan on getting a lot of enjoyment out of those six months. And if Potter were to win his little altercation with The Freakish One, there would always be the availability of a little more enjoyment."

"I believe you think a bit too much of yourself, Blaise Zabini." Lucius said menacingly. Blaise perked his ears to this, looking interested rather than insulted. "Potter's not the type, _no_ Gryffindor is the type, to let you or anyone else flit in and out of their love lives as the whim strikes you."

"No," Blaise said slowly. "Maybe not right now. Not him. But I have a feeling that this holiday is going to be changing that little trait of his."

Lucius took a shaky breath, looking as Blaise's dark eyes caught the light of the writhing flames. He was very glad to not be going to school with Blaise—he would hate competing with the boy, living within such easy reach of the boy's diabolical impulses.

"Now, let's move onto business. I trust that there is still a business to be gotten on with?"

Lucius thought momentarily of getting the word, Apparating to the Potter-Malfoy residence, the Dark Mark shining over the devastated structure—the moment of cold fear that would overtake him and never leave. He pictured, in earnest, the horrendous sights within. He imagined throwing aside broken furniture and random clutter, both searching frantically for and wishing to avoid what he was sure he was to find—there, the pale, broken body of his only son. He knew that, at that moment, every Draco he had ever known would overcome his senses: the baby, wiggling so hard and suddenly that Lucius had been terrified of dropping him by accident; the toddler with the stern expression; the five-year-old that followed him from room to room, emulating him down to the smallest quirk; the teen, so hard to judge and understand and show affection for; the young man dead before him—the end of the line.

He kept this picture firmly in mind as he nodded agreement with Blaise, and got on with business, relaying his problems with engaging Draco's attention away from that horrible Potter.

"Lucius, Lucius," Blaise sighed when he had finished, and Lucius thought that every sigh from that boy sounded like the sigh of a lover, no matter what the boy might be saying. It was a distinct property of Blaise's voice—that loving sigh, the heartfelt murmur, the inherent flirtatious quality. He had the buoyant feeling that Harry would never be able to resist. "I'm afraid you're going about this all the wrong way. Now, when you want to impress a woman, you don't act your natural self, do you?"

Lucius had no idea. He had never tried to impress a woman, at least not romantically. Narcissa had been presented to him, and he had accepted her and she had accepted him and that was the end of it.

"You have to put on the charms, Lucius! You have to take all of your best qualities, even if they're not necessarily yours, and turn up the luminosity until they are blinding—until their shine washes out all your despicable qualities."

"And I should do this with Draco?" Lucius asked blandly—the boy's little teaching sessions were growing wearisome, even if the boy knew romantic deceit better than Lucius, even if the boy were more chillingly despicable.

"You should do this with your _work_. Draco isn't going to be wooed away from his lover for tedious fact-finding missions! You need to glamorize your work if you're going to tempt him, you need to make it shimmer and shine, you need to razzle-dazzle him! Consider: if you wanted to tempt another woman away from her love, you wouldn't bore her away from him! You would _entice_ her."

"Can we please not have a woman I'm trying to lay symbolize my son?" Lucius growled, and Blaise laughed light heartedly. "And by the way, Mr. Expert, I don't see much head-way coming from your half of this mission."

Blaise looked highly unconcerned.

"You don't get bread the moment you plant the wheat, Lucius. Be patient. But I really must commend you on your antics today. I doubt that Draco heard much of your little nitpicks past all his Potter-praise, but I'm willing to bet that the next time they have a little tiff, your anti-Potter commentary is going to playing in his mind."

Lucius had done the best he could to counter Draco's long-flowing praise with slightly more down-to-earth truths. It might be cute the way Potter refused to rinse the toothpaste from his mouth, but didn't that leave toothpaste in the basin? And wouldn't Draco have to see such disgusting residue when he went to brush?

Lucius had only done it to keep his brain from dying under the torment of Draco's commendations, but he smiled now at Blaise as if he had planned it that way all along. He might have, after all. Perhaps he was simply so genius in the realm of evil-doing that he didn't even need to consciously plan these things.

"For tomorrow, _you_ work on the razzle dazzle, and _I'll_ work on what Gryffindor's fall for best."

"False dream sequences?"

"Um…no. I was thinking vulnerability."

"Oh, yeah, I guess that, too. But also definitely misleading dream sequences."

"I'll keep that in mind."

XXX

Draco woke first, thinking that he was always the one to wake up first, and that Potter was incomprehensibly lazy. He would have to change that when they were married. They would have one of those clocks that made obnoxious noises. What had Potter called them? Alarming Clocks. Yes, one of those.

_Let's see Potter sleep through that. _Draco mused happily.

Oh, but then Harry was so sweet-looking when he was asleep. And it was Christmas morning—their first Christmas morning together, and Draco wilted under the darlingness of this being the first Christmas morning of many. And eventually they would make their own family, and they would wake up early with their children and sprint down the stairs to the towering tree in the parlor, and how his heart would glow with affection seeing his children's faces light up with each new present.

But now was his and Harry's time alone, and he would cherish it all the more for thinking that eventually he would have to share his Harry with their children. Would he be jealous of his own children for how they would undoubtedly eat away at Harry's time? Eat away time Harry could be spending with Draco? Knowing his own nature, Draco thought that probably he would. But he would just have to get over that.

Right now, child-free and heart beating affection through his veins with every painful pulse, Draco raised himself out of the tangle of Harry's arms and kissed him gently on his mouth. He kept up this litany, mouth gently pressing against every inch of skin available to him, until Harry's eyes fluttered lazily and the boy stretched as best he could, tangled up with Draco.

"Happy Christmas to you, too." Harry murmured groggily, freeing a hand to brush back Draco's sleep-mussed locks. Draco stroked the bronzed angle of his jaw happily and Harry dropped his hand to run his fingers over the new addition to Draco's ring finger, sending a violent chill of enthusiasm down Draco's sleepy spine.

"Not to alarm you, or anything, but I believe some packages for you turned up in the night." Draco murmured, and Harry was immediately away, scrambling out of bed and bee-lining for the small stack of presents at the foot of the bed.

Draco felt momentarily put out. He wouldn't have told Harry if he had known the boy was going to completely ignore him—and on Christmas morning, at that! He should have known—the boy was always so excitable over gifts; the smallest presents threw him into a complete tizzy. Sighing it off, Draco slipped gracefully out of bed, becoming annoyed anew in light of the fact that Harry didn't even glance up at his naked figure as he crossed into the bathroom.

"Another sweater?" Draco drawled loudly, hearing the rip of cheap wrapping paper.

"And her chocolate fudge, too! I can't believe so many people sent me a present! Hermoine, Ron, Mrs. Weasley, the twins, Hagrid, even Ginny! Ginny never sends me presents!"

Draco's face screwed up nastily. Ginny fucking Weasley. That particular whore had been after Harry since first year, and Draco knew it well. If Draco could have his way, the little brat would have died back in that filthy chamber. Ugh, Harry and his dreadful knack for rescuing people. Well, that was one situation he should have staid out of.

"Mrs. Weasley sent you something, too!" Harry called, and Draco perked up a bit. He snatched a robe over himself, tied it tight, and rushed to his present.

Harry sat amidst his opened presents and his brown cardboard wrappings and twine, looking exuberant. He tossed up a thick package and Draco flopped down to open it.

"New hair gel from Hermoine! I wonder if it'll work?" Harry ran quickly to the bathroom with a heavy rose-colored bottle.

Left alone, Draco pulled off the twine and ripped open the wrapping only for his eyes to be accosted by a cacophony of green and silver. It was the tell-tale Weasley sweater warped to meet what Mrs. Weasley apparently thought were his tastes: Slytherin green with a silver dragon curled on the chest. Draco thought he was going to vomit.

The practically made him an honorary Weasley! What the hell kind of Christmas present was that?!

Draco checked to make sure Harry was reasonably engaged before making a disgusted noise and throwing the sweater into the fireplace where the thick wool at first stifled the flames, but then gave way to its heat.

"What do you thi—_WHAT THE FUCK_?!!" Harry shouted, catching sight of the sweater-fed flames.

"Shit!" Draco cried, trying to save the sweater inexplicably—as if Harry would be more forgiving if half the sweater could be salvaged. It was no use, and his wand was still on the nightstand—there was simply no rescuing the horrible thing.

"What happened?" Harry cried.

"Oh, I, er, it slipped!"

"Into the fire?!"

"Um…"

"I can't believe you did that! Do you have any idea how long Mrs. Weasley spent making you that?!"

"Of course not! How on Earth would I know such a thing?"

"Well I don't know, either, but I know that it took a while! How could you do such a thing? She's trying to be nice to you!"

"Nobody asked her to be nice to me. I certainly didn't ask her to." Draco said grumpily, folding his arms over his chest.

Harry took a few erratic, pacing steps before dropping down next to the blonde.

"I don't get it. I just…I just don't get how you can have someone offer you friendship and turn it down so bitchily."

"Don't you? You did it first." Draco set a good sized pout onto his face. He might be able to turn this to his favor still.

"We are not getting into that." Harry growled, turning Draco's face and forcing the blonde to look him in the eye. Draco instead looked aside to where the remnants of the sweater were charring in the grate. "I…they're the closest thing I've got to family, Draco. Can't you see that it's better for you guys to get along? Or…at least not burn each other's gifts?"

"I thought I was your family now. Isn't that what you want?" Draco asked in a small voice, scooting closer to his boyfriend. Harry took the bait and wrapped a consoling arm around the blonde's shoulders.

"I do, you idiot. But that doesn't mean that they'll stop being my family! Your parents aren't going to stop being your parents just because we get hitched—unfortunately."

Draco elbowed him in the side.

"Jerk. You do the same thing. You don't like my parents any more than I like the Weasleys. You just hide it better than me." Draco moped. This got the proper reaction—Harry looked very much chagrined. As his silence grew more pronounced, Draco smiled secretively, knowing he had won. Still, he managed to sound adequately morose when he said, "This is going to be one of those subject we ignore, isn't it."

"That can't be a good way to deal with our problems, can it?" Harry murmured.

"I like it. Let's keep it. From now on we'll just put off all our arguments. We can have an allotted day once a year when we bring up all our grievances—one really big, blow-out fight a year, eh?"

Harry chuckled. "That sounds really healthy."

"It's worked for us so far."

"Can't argue with results." Harry sighed.

"So, go ahead and write down that I burned that Weasley sweater and we'll deal with it in about a yeah, okay?"

Harry only groaned.

"Get out of here before I smack you," he warned, pushing Draco away by his head. The Slytherin only laughed and scrambled to the bathroom, proud of himself for deflecting such a major argument this early in the morning. With skills like these, married life was going to be an absolute breeze.

A quick shower and twice as long on his face, and he was ready to face his presents—his _keepable_ presents. He rubbed his hair dry and walked his quick little pace out the steamy bathroom. Harry was standing in front of the mirror in black jeans that looked as if they had been painted on.

Draco stopped in his tracks.

"Owww, sexy boy. Where'd you get the jeans? Did I buy those for you?"

"No, I was just trying them on. They're from Ginny—for Christmas."

Draco's blood ignited.

"From Ginny Weasley?" he said dangerously.

"Yeah. And—hey, check it out!" Harry undid the button and the zipper and in the flash of an eye the pants were pooled at his ankles. "Isn't that great? Save us a lot of time, yeah?"

"Ginny Weasley gave those to you?"

"Yeah. And look, they go back up, too." Harry shifted his ankles around and the pants slid back up his legs, doing themselves up again. "I'm sorry, but that's just awesome. Why don't you look impressed? That's fucking impressive!"

"Take those off."

"I knew you'd like them. Okay, watch close." Harry undid them again and they were automatically at his ankles. "And here they go again!" Harry shifted them and they were back at his hips. "Go pants, go!"

"Take. Them. Off."

"Oh, look, okay last night was an exception because I wanted you to say yes when I proposed to you—we are not making a habit of that."

"You are not wearing sexy pants that Ginny fucking Weasley gave you!"

Harry suddenly understood what was going on, and looked stricken.

"You're kidding me!"

"I'm so not kidding you! Get out of those slut pants!"

"What?! You said they were sexy!"

"They are sexy! Ginny Weasley should not be buying you sexy things!"

Harry held up his hands in a T, and Draco only knew from previous experience that this meant Timeout.

"We're just going to have to postpone this fight until next year."

XXXX

A/N: It's a bit abrupt, I know, but I couldn't think of a better way to end it. Maybe that has something to do with it being 3 AM?

REVIEW! It's why I do this. Okay, it's half the reason I do this. It's the reason I do it on a reasonable schedule!


	17. Lucius Has an Unhappy Christmas

Harry and Draco had been able to come to an agreement before rushing downstairs in order to be on time for the extravagant Malfoy Christmas Day Presents-Opening Ceremony.

Harry swore to never wear the SexyPants in Ginny's presence, and in return Draco would write a _convincing_ thank-you note to Mrs. Weasley for the sweater.

"Your ring!" Harry hissed just as Draco was pushing open the door to the front room. The blonde got a jolt of excitement at these words, _his_ _ring_, but snatched the thing off his finger and slipped it into his pocket before his parents looked up to greet them.

Harry hadn't seen a Christmas tree since he had arrived, but now he saw where they had been hiding it. This room was all windows with a glass door that led into the gardens, and the huge tree attacked Harry's eyesight.

Although it was very beautiful, Harry thought that it was a bit overdone—like something Mrs. Zabini would have picked out.

It was decked out to every square inch in pale blue and silver ribbons, with mechanical silver birds flitting from branch to branch. White orbs of light floated within the recesses of the branches, illuminating sparkling white globe-ornaments of crystal and opal. Harry also thought that he saw luminous white pixies flying lazily around the thing and made sure not to sit too close—he had, after all, learned some things from Lockhart's class.

"Happy Christmas, boys!" Narcissa called out jovially, sipping coffee at a pale blue settee. Harry felt disastrously underdressed, even in his SexyPants, in face of Narcissa's beautifully crafted blue-and-silver silk dress. Lucius, although not dressed as if he were going to the Grammy's, was equally ritzed out in high collared velvet robes.

"Happy Christmas," Draco replied happily. "Where are my presents?"

Harry cringed, but Narcissa only took another sip of coffee before saying, "Over there, darling, to the left."

Draco pounced, and Harry tried to shield his eyes from this carnage that followed.

"Oh, a silk scarf, perfect. And a new potions book—and a potions journal! Yey!" was all Harry could hear over the sounds of ripped wrapping.

Harry couldn't keep track of how many presents Draco received, but he was under the impression that even Dudley wouldn't have been able to complain. Harry was rather nervous that Draco, with his seemingly never-ending gifts, would receive precisely what Harry had gotten him. Yet twenty minutes later Draco emerged from under a mountain of expensive wrapping paper, panting and exhausted and Harry still hadn't heard his present named.

"OK, your turn. Impress me." Draco said breathlessly, and Harry handed over his presents, wrapped clumsily in Gryffindor red. "Ha, ha," was all Draco had to say about that, although Lucius scoffed angrily. Narcissa "accidentally" knocked a hot cup of coffee into his lap for that one.

"You're really going to wish I hadn't just done that when you see your Christmas present," she said sweetly, and Lucius turned a torpid color of bitter lustfulness.

"Oh Harry! They're gorgeous!" Draco said, ripping the paper off his gift—a leather satchel protecting and assortment of monogrammed vials.

"Don't you already have, like, a million vials?" Lucius asked lazily, obviously thinking that Narcissa had taken away all that she could from him. He was mistaken of course, but he wouldn't find this out until the fact was sure to be most devastating.

Harry blushed, wanting to kick himself. Of _course_ Draco, potions-mongerer that he was, would have millions of these things: they were standard equipment for _any_ Potions Master wanna be.

"Yes, but I don't have any like _these_. I _love_ them, Harry," Draco reassured his boyfriend, kissing him sweetly on the mouth. Lucius made a gagging noise, but Narcissa shoving an English muffin into his mouth stifled any following complaints.

Harry had also gotten his boyfriend a Potions Theory book, which he had been promised by Hermoine would aid Draco in any endeavors into inventing his own potions. There was also a pair of reasonably trendy safety goggles just in case any of these newly invented potions turned out to be highly combustible.

"That's it?" Lucius asked when Draco had finished opening his last present.

"Dad!" Draco growled.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was just surprised. I mean—what, three, four presents? Really?"

Harry had blushed scarlet, but Lucius just fell back into his chair, looking flabbergasted.

"I—is that—I normally…" Harry murmured. Draco pet his hair down consolingly.

"It's fine, Harry! I _loved_ your presents, really. _All_ of them." Draco stroked Harry's ring finger carefully as he said this, and it forced Harry to smile. "Okay, your turn! Are your present-opening fingers at the ready?"

Harry looked at Draco eagerly, but the boy wasn't holding any thing. Was it too big to hold? Harry suddenly thought of receiving a new car, a Quidditch stadium, a small island.

"Behind you, Harry!" Draco giggled, and Harry looked. There was a stack of presents, finely wrapped, that closely mirrored Draco's own before the massacre.

"Which one?' Harry asked.

"All of them!"

"_WHAT?!_" Harry actually jumped to his feet with surprise.

"All of them! Go on, open them!" Draco shouted happily.

"There—there's got to be at least twenty presents there! _All of them_?"

"There are twenty six and _YES, all of them_! Hurry up and open them before I do."

"Um…" Harry murmured, touching the first present gingerly.

"Get on with it, Potter. We want to have breakfast eventually." Lucius drawled, and so Harry pulled the paper off quickly, revealing a chrome container of Magical Muffler's Broom Buffer.

Lucius gave him hardly any time to thank Draco before pushing him onto the next present. Harry didn't think he had ever unwrapped his presents so quickly, and yet it still took three times as long as most Christmases due to sheer quantity.

"Oh my God, you are kidding me. Did Hermoine help you with this?" Harry questioned, spirits blossoming as the presents just kept coming. He had just unwrapped a Beatles belt-buckle.

"No! I don't need twelve of your T-shirts AND Hermoine Granger to tell me that you're crazy about beetles." Draco replied mock-grumpily, but Harry only laughed.

All in all, in addition to his acquisitions from earlier, Harry walked away with a brand new winter cloak of Graphorn hide with soft rabbit-fur lining and a bottomless pocket. He also got a new pair of black Vans, replacement Birchwood twigs for his broom tail, and a few books about Defense Against the Dark Arts and Auror training manuals. Plus more clothes than he knew how to fit in his trunk.

Draco slipped into that hypnotized calm when Harry turned and, catching him full in the eye, murmured his heartfelt thanks. The blonde felt reduced to the same level of giddy school-girlness as he used to when Harry had first said nice things to him.

"No problem," he felt like sighing. "Anytime."

He tried to ignore to wave of pouty anger that washed over him at Harry having this power over him—the power to turn him into a love-struck first-year Hufflepuff girl.

"My turn, my turn!" Narcissa sang out, clapping her hands together.

She received a startling diamond necklace that didn't seem to much impress her, among other things, from Lucius, and a length of black cloth from Draco that, if you ran it over your hair, would do it up in any fashion you could imagine, which seemed to over-joy the woman.

"Oh, Draco, darling, thank you."

"How about you, Potter?" Lucius asked.

Harry looked up from one of his DADA books with confusion.  
"Um…how…what do you mean?" Harry asked, gulping. Draco seemed equally startled, whereas Narcissa simply looked murderous.

"Lucius! Your turn!" Narcissa shouted angrily, shoving a box into his hands before he could answer Harry.

The blonde man gave Harry a vindictive sneer that he immediately recognized as the one that Draco used to wear so frequently.

The look was swiped from his face as he looked into the contents of the box. Harry had been there when Narcissa bought the ensemble (as much as he was trying to forget that fact) and so he knew intimately what Lucius Malfoy was staring at so avidly right now, and why his jaw was practically scraping the floor.

"But we won't be needing this for quite, _quite_ a _long_ while, so I think I'll just put it away someplace safe where it won't collect moths." Narcissa said sweetly, and dragged the box out of her husband's death grip.

Harry didn't think he had ever seen the man look so heartbroken before. He was sure that a Christmas tantrum was coming up, and so wasted no time in heeding Narcissa's call for breakfast.

XXX

Almost immediately after breakfast, Lucius had invited Draco to observe A Day in the Life again, an invitation that Draco flatly refused. Of course he had soon changed his mind when he found out that they were off to see the Minister.

"Are you sure you won't come, Harry?" Draco asked as he fancified himself back in their room.  
"Absolutely. I don't need to ruin my Christmas by talking to incompetent Ministers, thank you very much. I can think of much more enjoyable ways of making myself miserable."

"Hm, not a big fan of the Ministry there, Harry?" Draco laughed, but Harry remained silent, turning away bitterly. Draco thought that, in light of fourth year, and then the brunt of fifth, that he would be better to steer clear of this subject for a few more years.

"I don't know how long Father expects us gone, but I don't imagine it could be that long. Think you'll be able to enjoy Christmas day without me? How on Earth will you manage to entertain yourself?" Draco asked, perfecting his tie and turning to latch his arms around Harry's neck.

The boy hazarded a smile.

"Oh I guess I'll get by somehow. I explored the West wing yesterday, so now I guess I'll look over the East. See if I can't drudge up any Dark materials to turn over to the Aurors."

"Harry." Draco growled.

"Hm, sensitive subject? All right then."

"Do be careful exploring though, Harry. My parents' chambers are in the East Wing, and I don't think my father would much appreciate the Intrepid Boy Sleuthe poking about in his bedroom."

"Eugh, your parents' bedroom? That's the last place any of my sleuthing is going to take me. I mean—just the thought of it--!"

"I don't want any thoughts of it either. The worst part of it is that I'm living proof that they've done it at least once."

"Yuck!" Harry said, pushing Draco away. "I've seen the stomach you came out of!"

"Better than seeing the hol—"

"Do _not_ finish that sentence! Do not ruin my Christmas by finishing that sentence! Go on and get out of here before you put any other disgusting thoughts into my innocent, sheltered mind."

"Whatever—innocent my candy ass. You're way more of a perv than your little Gryffindor buddies think."

"Don't you have a father to be mimicking right about now? Go on, you're cutting into my sleuthing time."

Draco laughed and kissed his boyfriend softly on the lips.

"I'll try to be back soon. I love you."

"I love you, too. I'm sorry." Harry murmured, leaning back on the footboard.

"Sorry? For what?" Draco asked as Harry ducked his face away.

"For not giving you very many presents. If I had known—"

Draco forced the raven-haired boy to look him in the eye.

"You've given me everything, Harry," he said sternly. "Do you really think I'd be much cheered up by a new scarf or fur-lined boots if I didn't have you? You mean everything to me—more than I'll ever get from cute little boxes with elaborate bows," he smiled suddenly. "Although if I were to come home tonight with a certain quaintly wrapped Gryffindor in nothing but an elaborate bow…well…"

"Oh my god, stop being a horndog and go!" Harry laughed, pushing the boy away. He drew him right back for a long kiss, though, and they probably would have remained in that position for quite a while if it hadn't been for the loud tapping at the door, immediately followed by Lucius bursting through their door.

He looked a bit disappointed to find them only kissing, and Harry guessed that, pent up as he was, the man had been hoping to find the two of them shagging so that he could release some energy by murdering Harry.

"Um, well, come on. We'll be late." Lucius said austerely, and swept back out of the room.

"Bye, babe." Draco said, tugging gently on Harry's belt-loops, smiling that adorably endearing smile of his, walking with that cute little spring in his step. Harry sighed happily.

"Bye."

XXX

Harry quickly found that he didn't have the mental stamina for sleuthing when he had just received such a cornucopia of broom-related gifts. Although he had been unsure about needing it, he had still packed his Firebolt, hoping rather than believing that Draco would want to play a round with him.

Although the blonde loved Quidditch, he hated losing, and without bludgers or distractions from other players, Harry was even more on top of his game when he and Draco played one on one. It therefore didn't surprise Harry very much that Draco was never very eager to play him.

"Isn't beating me in front of the whole school enough for you? Do you really have to do it in your free time, too?" Draco had shouted angrily at him back in September. They hadn't played one on one since. Harry figured the next time they played he would let Draco win, being very careful not to let the boy realize this, and then their matches would jump in frequency. Until then it didn't much matter to him who he played against—sometimes the Gryffindors would have a little inter-house scrimmage or the Ravenclaws would join in randomly. Most of the time he could find better things to do with his time alone with Draco than play Quidditch.

Harry cared for his broom dutifully, spending nearly an hour making it absolutely beautiful, before heading outside, flying in lazy circles, making sure not to go high enough to be seen over the stone walls.

His new cloak was astoundingly warm, although he wished that he had a matching hat—his ears were frozen and he'd only been out for a few minutes. The wind chilled him too much to go very fast, but he took a leisurely tour of the grounds. The rose garden had apparently been charmed into perpetual bloom—it was a beatific mass of white, red, pink and even black and purple roses. Around the other end of the Manor there was the lake Narcissa had tossed Lucius into. Harry hoped the man's birthday was in a warmer month than this.

Just as Harry was heading back to the Manor to warm up with a cup of hot chocolate, it began to snow. It wasn't gradual; it was as sudden as if someone had flipped a switch or pulled back a curtain and revealed a blizzard. Harry jumped off his broom and pulled back his hood, letting snowflakes as big as his eyes mingle and melt in his hair, stick to his eyelashes and glasses.

It was perfect snow—light and globular in the air, but sticky on the ground. Harry wished that he had someone to throw snowballs at. For the first time since leaving Hogwarts, really, he missed Hermoine and Ron and the rest of his friends desperately. And now with Draco gone for the day, he felt especially lonesome.

"Oh!" he cried out as the thought struck him with as much force as a bludger. He jumped back onto his Firebolt and headed straight for the Owlery. Although Harry thought it odd that the Malfoys had an owlery for only maybe ten owls, he had to assume that it was due to some strange aristocratic mantra or another. Malfoys Have Owleries, or something equally strange.

As soon as he got through the door of the Owlery, something huge flew at his face. He raised his arm to protect his face, and Hedwig landed gently on it.

"Hey, you really scared me!" Harry admonished. Hedwig nipped at his cloak and looked completely unapologetic.

"Yeah, I know I haven't visited you in a while…" Harry sighed and she hooted softly back at him. "Happy Christmas to you too. And actually, I did get you something. And if you take a quick letter off to someone, I'll give it to you."

Hedwig tilted her head to the side suspiciously and Harry laughed. "I swear. Now come on, there must be…somewhere…ah, here we go." There was a heavy wooden box attached to the wall near the door that held a small assortment of parchment, quills, and ink.

_Zabini!_

_It's snowing! Want to get completely demolished in a snowball fight?_

_--Potter _

He jotted it quickly, made sure it was legible, and tied it loosely to Hedwig's proffered leg.

"He's just up the way. Not a long fly at all. And you get an excellent Christmas present when you return." Harry promised. Hedwig took off after nipping his ear affectionately. Harry had known Hedwig long enough to know that this meant something along the lines of: _You don't have to get me presents. But since you've gone through the trouble…_

The other owls in the faintly lit room shuffled around suspiciously and eyed Harry as an obvious ruffian who had accidentally strayed into their private club.

"Sheesh, even the _owls_ here think I'm a punk." Harry muttered, and left before he could receive any more disdainful glances from _animals_.

Harry went quickly back to his bedroom and got Hedwig's present from his trunk: a special edition of Owl Treats that could scurry like mice.

"I hope she would _like_ to hunt down her treats," Harry said to himself. "I know I wouldn't."

Just then Hedwig swooped in through the window he had left open for her, note attached to her leg.

Harry unwrapped it anxiously. Maybe Blaise didn't want to hang out with him? Maybe that night had been a one time thing because the boy had nothing better to do. God, it was Christmas Day—of course Blaise would be too busy to hang out with him!

Yet Harry was still surprised to see that the note Hedwig had around her ankle was his own. It had obviously been read and retied, but there were no markings on it at all.

"Hey, what gives? You gave it to him, didn't you?" Harry questioned. Hedwig gave him a dangerous glare. "Okay, okay, I get it. Well, what the hell? Why didn't he write me back?"

Harry gave Hedwig her treats with a distracted "Happy Christmas" and paced the room as she followed the fake-mouse with her sharp eyes.

Harry knew that if Blaise didn't even respond to his letter that the boy obviously didn't want to hang out, but then why not write that? It wouldn't even require a new owl or a new sheet of parchment or anything, just a scrawled "No Fucking Way" and Harry would be satisfied. Was Blaise too busy even for that?

Curiosity had always been Harry's most ardent curse, well, maybe besides his cursed scar and everything associated. Despite knowing this, Harry couldn't help being curious. If Blaise wouldn't reply to his owl, there were always other ways. Blaise didn't live that far off.

"Want to come, Hedwig? Spend some quality time together?" Harry questioned, pulling back on his cloak and mounting his broom. Hedwig looked at him, very nonplussed, over the remnants of her treat. "I think I saw a lot of shrew tracks over in Blaise's neck of the woods. Looked like a pretty good hunting ground…"

Hedwige flew out the window ahead of him, and he sped to catch up with her.

X

Harry cleared his throat and flattened his hair and wiped the snow off his glasses before knocking on Blaise's door.

Hedwig gave him a deeply appraising look from his shoulder.

"Oh, sod off. So I'm nervous. I hope I'm not interrupting anyth—" Harry shut his mouth tight as none other than Blaise answered the door, doing a quick double take and looking extremely surprised.

Harry hadn't realized it somehow, but Blaise was actually very attractive—thick, slightly curling dark brown hair, large, almond-shaped liquid-chocolate eyes, and a healthy glow to his olive skin. Harry wondered how it was that the most evil House could have such attractive people in it.

"Harry!" Blaise gasped, glancing behind him before stepping onto the porch and closing the door soundly behind him. "What are you doing here? And—oh, hi." Blaise said to Hedwig. She bunched in on herself and closed her eyes to slits. She apparently didn't like people who made it seem as if she hadn't done her job properly.

"Hi, um, I'm sorry to just drop by like this, but, um, I was just…well, you got my note…I was just, well, I guess you're busy. If you could have hung out then you would have written so, but then you didn't write no, either, so…I…but you're busy—are you?"

"I just…I just don't think it's a good idea for us to hang out." Blaise said in a miserable voice, looking soundly at his feet.

"_What_? Why not?" Harry suddenly remembered Draco being so jovial upon leaving Blaise's house the other day. "Did Draco say something to you?"

"What? No, of course not. Draco would never say…"

"Did he make you think that you and I can't hang out? I mean, you want to, don't you? We had fun, right?"

"Yes, yes, of course I had fun with you, Harry." Blaise said breathily, and then took a step back to the door. "It's just…"

"Listen," Harry said firmly, stepping towards the brunette. Blaise looked up at him through those thick lashes—Harry hadn't realized how much smaller the other boy was, even smaller than Draco. "Draco doesn't decide who I get to hang out with, got it? If we had fun together, then we should hang out! I mean…it's just that…well I don't meet many Slytherins that I like, so we shouldn't stop being friends just because my boyfriend has a habit of being a bully." Harry stammered out.

Blaise smiled at him coyly. "Are we friends, Harry?"

Harry gulped and garbled for words, but Blaise's clean, musical laugh cut him off. "It's okay. I'd…I'd like to be friends." Blaise said, looking embarrassed.

"Well all right then." Harry beamed.

"Would you like to come in? I was just having some hot chocolate."

"Sure."

Hedwig flew off in a flurry, knocking Harry's glasses askance on what Harry thought was probably on purpose.

She liked lion dens fine, but she didn't care much for snake pits.

XXXXXX

A/N: SIGH. I'm exhausted. See you next week.

Be a dear and REVIEW.

Oh, also, I don't know what Graphorn hide is, or actually looks like, but for my purposes it's like leather/suede. I know that isn't a fabric. But Blaise isn't a brunette with olive skin, so I guess I'll just take my artistic licenses as they come to me, yeah?

Oh, and I know it's not obvious, but that last sentence isn't Harry thinking, that's like…I don't know—narrative.


	18. Big Plans for Harry

"I think Fudge has gained some weight, don't you?" Draco asked lazily, slumped in the carriage after their hours-long meeting. He missed his boyfriend. Sure going around talking to Ministers was fun and pride-inducing, but he couldn't love up on Fudge. He _could_ love up on Harry. Draco thought that that fact greatly outweighed any positive aspects of anyone else.

"I don't remember asking you your opinion. And sit up straight." Lucius said in that cold voice that Draco remembered from his formative years. His spine responded immediately, stiffening into a straight line, jerking him with surprise out of his slouch.

Draco stared at his father in astonishment, but the man was going over paperwork with a stoic gaze, and didn't seem to notice his son. Draco expected this kind of order from Old Lucius, the Lucius that raised him and then began slipping away as Draco grew older. It had always seemed to Draco that Old Lucius—snarky, impossible to please, and mind-numbingly demanding, had slipped away because his job was done. He didn't need to be there to tell Draco not to play with Mudbloods, he didn't need to tell Draco to speak when spoken to, he didn't need to tell Draco how to be vain and demanding and harsh. It was obvious that Draco had accomplished this, or at least laid down the foundations. At that point in his career as a Malfoy, Draco was at the heights of his miserable vocation. He had alienated everyone outside of Slytherin, and even most Slytherins, while paying him due tribute, certainly wouldn't have wanted to spend a dinner or a trip to Hogsmeade with the wretched, egotistical git. Even they had a limit as to how much self-praise they could take.

In any case, Old Lucius had seemed to take it as proof that his pupil was ready to move on without him, at which time New Lucius had emerged to enjoy the fruits of Old Lucius' labor. A bit too soon it seemed.

Not a month after New Lucius had emerged, quite suddenly, Draco had found himself floundering under this caring, almost enjoyable father. It was at that point that he had succumbed to Blaise's angry dare and propositioned Harry, fully expecting to be turned down, but this had decidedly not been the outcome.

Draco felt that perhaps his old teacher had emerged now because Draco was so obviously failing in his old profession. He was no more A Malfoy than Harry was an aristocrat. That Potter boy had softened his Malfoy harshness, had scrapped his Malfoy ego, and had apparently been able to teach him, if not a kind of humility, then at least a respect for other people—something that led most Slytherins to heartily believe that Potter had actually murdered the real Draco Malfoy, and had replaced him with a less than realistic copy.

Draco felt another flash of anger for his boyfriend. He had been doing so well, had been passing every test of Malfoyness Old Lucius had thrown at him, and now this. Back at the beginning, earning that respect all over again from scratch. Well he would show Potter, he would work harder than ever to show his father what a good Malfoy he really was—he was no Hufflepuff or Weasley, he would earn back Old Lucius' mark of esteem. Potter wasn't going to weaken him with this love crap; if Lucius could be the pinnacle of Malfoyness and still have a spouse, then Draco could do it to.

Draco held himself erect and remained silent, thinking instead of how, exactly, he could gain back the returned Old Lucius' regard. This seemed especially impossible this time around, and all because of Potter. Old Lucius would never respect him if he married the half-blood, but at the same time how could he _not_ marry the boy? No, Old Lucius would _have_ to accept him. If Harry could prove himself, prove that he was more than an upstart half-blood, son of a Mudblood, then Lucius would have to accept him. If only Potter could uphold the Malfoy name as well as the rest of the family, if only he could prove that he belonged in their world, then everything would be al lright.

He would have to talk to the boy when he returned. Draco didn't care if Harry had to fake it all break, he had to be more Malfoyish, or else Old Lucius would never let them marry. And then where would he be?

Draco's chest tightened. What would he do if Lucius didn't allow them to marry? Narcissa could take on New Lucius just fine, but even she wouldn't be able to deflect the full ire of Old Lucius. It would be hopeless. He'd have to wait until his father died before he could even be with Harry, and that could take years.

As for eloping, going against his father, against that power—Draco didn't think he would be able to withstand it. He wouldn't be able to live either way—without his family and family name, or without Harry. He would be cursed either way.

Everything relied of Harry meeting Lucius' approval, and they were already so far behind. How could Harry earn the esteem of a man that hated everything about him? He would have to. Draco would have to make him. Even if it made Harry miserable to be so fake, Draco would have to make him.

_I hope you're having fun now, Harry, because you're going to be absolutely despondent when I get a hold of you,_ Draco thought glumly.

XXX

"What is that thing?" Harry questioned, setting down his empty mug of hot chocolate. The thing he was referring to looked for all purposes like a plush doll on stilts. The thing was bright, luminous gold, with a little black beak just jutting out from its soft, fuzzy feathers—it was seated atop what had to be at least four foot, black stick-legs, shining in the light of the living room like onyx.

"Oh, that's a bird my mom picked up in Morocco. Its name's Precious." Blaise sighed, sunken into to plush couch. The boy curled a lock of hair around a thin finger absent-mindedly. Hot chocolate apparently made him sleepy, something Harry secretly thought was _so_ "awww"-inducing.

"I thought the cat's name was Precious?" Harry asked, referring to the odd-looking cat-creature currently purring in his lap. It was larger than an average house cat, with black points to its long ears and a tail longer than its body.

"Oh my mom calls all her pets Precious—she can never remember their real names."

Just at that moment Mrs. Zabini swept through the room in a rush of silk and satin, her long dark hair spilling in zaftig curls down her back. Harry was amazed every time he saw her for she was extremely beautiful. Her skin was pale but healthy looking—not like the Malfoys, who all appeared to be devoid of pigment. She had large almond-shaped eyes the color of glowing amber, and full red lips. Harry actually saw a lot of her in Blaise—even the amber in her eyes seemed to be lurking in his, behind all the brown.

"Oh, Precious, have you seen Mommy's purse?" she questioned, patting the top of Blaise's head distractedly. Blaise was too shocked to respond, but it didn't matter, Mrs. Zabini had already moved on to another room, as if she hadn't even expected Blaise to speak. She had asked him the same way one would ask a darling but stupid pet: without any expectation of reply.

Harry turned to look at Blaise after watching his mother sweep back out of the room—the boy's jaw was clenched, creating a slight hollow in his cheek. His hands were gripped into the fabric of his robe, and there were two angry and embarrassed blotches of red high up on his cheeks.

"Blaise?" Harry asked softly.

The boy jerked out of his angry stare, full mouth a small slit in his face. He gave a hollow laugh, wiping his cheeks as if trying to wipe away the red circles there.

"I'm—I…" Blaise gave Harry a painful smile, looking away quickly.

Not knowing what else he could do, Harry put a consoling hand on Blaise's shoulder.

"I don't know what to say. I wish you hadn't seen that." Blaise whispered.

"Blaise, I…I'm sorry…" Harry had no idea what to say. What could he say? "Sorry your mother treats you like an adorable pet"? "Sorry sucky things happen to nice people"? Nothing seemed right.

"Oh, let's not talk about such a miserable subject. What's the use? There must be something nice to talk about. How are you and Draco?" Blaise wiped his face harshly and turned back to Harry looking brand new and reasonable happy. Harry wished he had the boy's resiliency, his ability to turn his back on the sad things in order to look fully at all the good.

"Draco and I are doing really well. Well…" thinking the boy could use a little pick-me-up, he relayed Draco's actions that morning, with both the sweater and the SexyPants. It seemed to do the trick: Blaise laughed happily and seemed to forget about his dreadful mother.

"You're going to have your hands full with that one, Harry. But while we're on the subject of Christmas presents, I have a little something for you."

"What?! But, I didn't—I didn't get you anything." Harry said, feeling like scum.

"Don't worry, it didn't cost me anything. But I think you're really going to enjoy it. Come on, I can't give it to you here. Let's go to my bedroom."

Although Harry knew Blaise couldn't be talking about what Harry's ever-curious penis thought he was talking about, Harry was still having a hard time keeping his body under control.

He pushed the cat off his lap and followed Blaise upstairs to his room.

"Okay, close your eyes." Blaise demanded. Harry gulped audibly. Draco had done this to him—made him turn every innocent request translate into something decidedly un-innocent.

Still, Harry closed his eyes, trying to hear what Blaise was doing over the sound of his own rushing blood.

Suddenly though, he could hear something very clearly over his heartbeat. It was a guitar. His eyes flew open—Blaise was standing proudly in front of the fire with the radio as it began to play what unmistakably Muggle music.

"You got it to work!"

"I know! I had to listen for hours to make sure they didn't mention magic, but this is it, right? This is Muggle music!"

"This is better than Muggle music! This is the Rolling Stones!"

"Huh?" Blaise's excitement lost out to his confusion.

"Here," Harry grabbed the radio and set it on the mantle piece. "The only way to properly enjoy this song is to rock out to it. God—how can you not! Listen to that beat! How can you contain your innate sense to rock the fuck out?! Okay, this is only going to work out if you close your eyes and jam out on the air guitar, otherwise all the awesomeness is going to well up inside of you and you'll explode. Come on, then, close your eyes."

Blaise did as he was told for all of three seconds, and then opening them to enjoy the tutorial on rocking out. So that's what air guitar was. Hm.

Blaise thought that this really should be ridiculous, watching Harry jumping epileptically around the room and lip syncing the music, but on the other hand—in those SexyPants with the clean white shirt T-shirt that had been hiding under that atrocious sweater, plus the absolutely sexified mussed up hair, Blaise thought that it actually looked very fitting.

_Once we're dating I'm going to get rid of those glasses and turn him into a rock and roll star,_ Blaise thought happily to himself. _Draco will _die_ when he sees us making out after a concert in the Prophet. Oh I can hardly wait! _He would have to get Harry started on a real guitar instead of that air thing, and he knew just where to get on.

In the meantime, though, he imagined Draco picking up the paper and seeing his and Harry's lips perpetually locked, choking on his fatty food and keeling over. He wrote up a mini-obituary in his mind, and imagined what he would say for a eulogy at the funeral. The way he saw it, Draco would either put on two hundred pounds after the HP/DM breakup thanks to comfort gorging, or would waste away to a skeletal persona at which Harry would cringe when they "accidentally" ran into each other every month or so.

"Draco looked so horrible today!" Harry would gasp when he got back to their expensive estate in the city. And then Harry would wrap his arms around Blaise's non-skeletal waist, and kiss Blaise's non-skeletal face, and would be happy that he had ended up with the all-beautiful Blaise Zabini instead of anorexia boy.

Draco, meanwhile, would cry himself to sleep after each clandestine meeting on the street, ruing the day he had ever turned his back on Blaise Zabini.

Oh it was all just too wonderful!

X

"Wow! How come you have so much Muggle stuff down here?" Harry asked, pushing aside a dusty set of golf clubs to clamor further into the dark basement room.

"My mom kind of gets on these kicks where she collects a lot of stuff. She was really into Muggle artifacts for a while in the 80's. Right now she's into butterflies. Our whole study is chock full of butterfly cases right now."

"You have a study? I love studies. The Malfoys have a study. I love that study." Harry said jovially, and Blaise thought there was something in his dreamy tone of voice that would make that subject a good one to go back to later.

"Here's what I wanted to show you—check it out." Blaise pushed away an old set of petticoats to reveal a shiny and thoroughly unused black and white Gibson electric guitar.

Harry dropped the lamp he had been holding and scrambled over the pinball machine to stroke the guitar reverently.

"A Gibson Les Paul? Nice! My cousin had an Epiphone LP-100. He broke after about a week of guitar lessons, but only all the strings. It came with extras. You have to hook it up to an amp to make it loud, so I used to play it really quietly after I moved into his old second bedroom. I was able to learn a few songs before he found out and smashed it over his new computer. He couldn't beat level four."

"You know how to play this thing?"

"Um—I used to know a couple songs. I haven't even touched a guitar since summer before third year."

"Play something!"

"Oh, I don't know," Harry blushed scarlet, putting the guitar back in its holder.

"Harry, you have to. I gave you a Christmas present, and the only thing I want in return is for you to play something! Come on, please? I've ever even seen one of these things played before—you have to, it's imperative to my rock and roll education."

"Okay, okay, only because it's Christmas. You can't tell anyone about this! Ugh, I can't believe I'm going to embarrass myself like this." Harry sighed, taking the guitar and sitting on top of the pinball machine. "Um…what do I still know?"

He strummed the guitar a little, and picked at some chords. He was right, it was hard to hear.

"Don't laugh, but I know Sea of Love. _Don't laugh_. It used to play on the radio all the time. You're not going to make me sing, are you?"

"Yep. It's the only way I'm going to be appeased."

"I don't see how this helps your knowledge of rock n roll. I can't play any rock n roll on just one unplugged electric guitar."

"Quit bitching and get on with the show!" Blaise said happily, and Harry gave a miserable sigh before beginning.

The song was very slow and very sweet, and Blaise immediately planned on making a single of it, even though Harry's voice was certainly not the best he'd ever heard. Really, it wasn't anything special, but it was honest and sincere, and Blaise thought that that on its own lent it a certain quality that would be sure to sell records.

_Oh my freaking God, we are going to be so famous! He's so hot and so famous already, we'll go down in rock n roll history in no time at all! We'll sell out concerts weeks in advance, men and women alike will throw themselves at us!_

It was hard for Blaise to contain himself at this point, but he made sure that his mirth appeared to be created by Harry's guitar skills and not by his own dreams of fame and fortune and plenty of willing bodies to have his way with.

"Oh Harry! That was great—simply great! You should totally be a musician—like in a band and everything!"

"No way!" Harry said automatically. Blaise made sure to control himself and not lunge at Harry's throat. Nobody said no to him. "I could never get in front of people and sing! I'm surprised I even did it for you. Consider yourself unlucky and leave it at that."

"I don't care what you say. You'll figure out that being an Auror blows and then you'll take my advice and turn to the stage."

"Okay, well, all I'm saying is don't hold your breath." Harry laughed, putting away the guitar and poking around the rest of the room.

"Is it because…no, never mind." Blaise murmured, blushing. Harry admired the way Blaise blushed—it was all contained in two little splotches on his cheeks and that was as far as it went, unlike with Harry whose whole face turned red, and sometimes his throat, depending on level of embarrassment.

"What? Never mind what?"

"No way, I'm not ruining Christmas by asking awkward questions."

"Well ask it and then I'll decide if it's awkward or not."

Blaise stared at his hands where he was fiddling with a petticoat ruffle.

"Well…I was going to ask if…if the reason that you've never really…do you not think you'll survive the war? Is that why you haven't picked a career? I mean, we all know you only want to be an Auror because Moody told you you should…or…that's rude, I shouldn't have said that." Blaise ducked his head away into his shoulder.

Harry felt mirthless, and half-wished that he hadn't made Blaise ask him. But at the same time, it felt as if he had found someone who he could share these things with. He couldn't really talk about it to the people he cared about, he would always feel as if he had to be strong for them, strong enough for everyone to pin their hopes on him, strong enough to carry everyone through this war. It felt like an unexpected relief, finding this person both so friendly and so trustworthy, open enough to talk to and strong enough to be told.

"I just…I just don't see how I have a chance of surviving. Luck only lasts so long…Voldemort's just a more powerful wizard than I am. He has years more experience than I do. I can only run away for so long. Eventually he's going to corner me, and then…"

"Have you talked to Draco about this?"

"Actually, I've never talked to anyone about this. I just don't think I can…if they knew…"

"If they knew you were human they wouldn't trust you to do what you have to do—to be able to beat him, once and for all. The funny thing is, I don't think people do see you as human. People don't look at their children, even children our age, and think about you."

"I don't understand what they think I am if I'm not human." Harry laughed hollowly.

"You're a legend. Even to kids at Hogwarts you're better than human—you're nicer and more honest than humans are."

"I'm not that nice, not as nice as a lot of people that go to our school. And as for honest…"

"You know what I mean, though. I know you do. There's something about you that's different from the rest of us. You're stronger than the rest of us. More sure of yourself."

"I think that's a bit much."

"I know it's because of the prophesy and fate and all that, but you know what you have to do—you have a goal. It's more than a lot of us have—a reason for being here. It's more than I have. For all appearances my mom thought childrearing would be a great hobby for about a year back in 1981."

"It's not that great a reason for being alive—"

"Stopping an evil wizard from taking over the world? I'd say it's pretty good as far as reasons for being here go."

"Seventeen years of being miserable in order to die at the hands of madman under the misguided impression that I can actually beat him, and if I fail…to have that on my conscience—a world enslaved because I didn't study enough if Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"You won't fail."

"Blaise, be realistic."

"I am." Blaise said clearly, and he sounded so sure of himself. So sure of Harry. "I know you Harry. You're stronger than you think you are."

Harry stood shocked. Why was it that when Blaise said it, Harry couldn't help but believe him? For the first time in a long time he felt an inkling of optimism regarding his chances. All this future-planning with Draco had really dampened his spirits, actually. He was happy that he would be with Draco, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to enjoy life with the boy for long before he was killed. And then what would happen to Draco? Would he be murdered too? Like Harry's parents—unsuspecting and terrified? Would they have children by then? What would happen to their children? The more he had thought of it the more bleak his future had seemed. Only once he had amassed bliss would it all be destroyed. He had enough experience in this life to know that, at least.

So why was it that Blaise could utter one sure sentence and suddenly all these thoughts seemed like morbid fantasies?

Blaise smiled embarrassedly before him and pet the back of his hand before saying, "I'm sorry. That was heavier than I had planned on getting Christmas Day."

"No, it really helped. For once it actually helped talking to someone." Harry said in awe. Blaise only smiled slightly.

"You should try it with Draco. He's stronger than you think too, Harry. You can tell him these things. He can take it." Blaise said softly, moving to go back upstairs. Harry stopped him gently by his hand and looked into the mildly surprised dark brown eyes, lit from behind by a thin shine of amber.

"Thank you."

Blaise smiled happily in return.

"Anytime. _Really_."

XXXXX

A/N: I know I said that song was by the Rolling Stones, but in my head I was actually imagining Bloc Party's Skeleton. Now there's a song you can't not rock out to! I only said Rolling Stones b/c Bloc Party started up in 2004 and this story takes place in 1997. So there, I am putting actual thought into the timeline stuff.

Also, that song Sea of Love was around back then, but not the only version I like, which is by Cat Power. Am I allowed to put lyrics down or not? I don't want to get kicked off or anything, but I really think it needs the lyrics up. Oh well, whatever.

I know this chapter doesn't have much smut or fluff to it, but hey, I warned you. We're getting into drama now. Smut and fluff are going onto the backburner.

Also, do you guys hate me for making Harry into guitars?


	19. Home

Draco returned long after dark, but he hardly noticed the time. Today had been as interesting as yesterday was boring. Finally he got to fully witness the true glamour associated with doing Malfoy business.

After leaving Fudge's little bruncheon late in the day, he and his father had gone to a smoking lounge to meet with an investment broker, Mr. Beaumonte. After that it was a nausea-inducing Apparition down to Nepal to examine a recently opened dimante mine, a mineral that looked rather useless to Muggles, but was very valuable in the wizarding world for its ability, as a powder, to turn any food into an aphrodisiac, and, when melted down to a liquid, to poison someone in a particularly painful manner.

They had met with a local wizard lord and discussed the details of the mines over odd foods that Draco daintily refused to touch—keeping, instead, to the familiar fruits offered. For the first time in his life, it seemed, Draco realized that there were other places in the world besides Great Britain and Europe. It struck him, finally, how vast the world was, and how full of amazing things it really was.

As a boy he used to spin the levitating globe in his father's study, and would stop it with the point of his finger, dreaming of going there—to the middle of the ocean or the middle of Africa.

He smiled, thinking of it now. Over breakfast he would tell his family the results of his trials. "I'm moving to Senegal," he would say. "I'm going to visit Japan this afternoon." His parents had always smiled, humoring him. Those days seemed so long ago. Once his studies had started, these trivial ideals had been put on the backburner. Merlin, he hadn't even thought of them in years.

"When I finished school your grandfather wanted me to travel the world," his father said on their walk from the road to the house. They walked slowly and Draco appreciated it—he rarely got to talk to his father seriously, candidly. "It was what he had done after graduating. But of course I couldn't—he died when I was in seventh year, and I had to take over the Malfoy business, of course. Luckily your mother and I recognized how sick he was, and we were able to have the wedding between sixth and seventh year. He was so happy, although of course he didn't show it. Merlin, I was younger than you are now! I was only sixteen. That seems so young, now. But of course at the time I felt myself very grown up: being taught in the ways of the business, marrying, linking the Malfoy and the Black names. I was very proud. Well, I suppose that will be you, soon."

Draco jerked at this. Did his father know, then? That he and Harry planned on marrying?

"But I should think that I'll last a few more years, at least. "Lucius chuckled to himself. "You won't have to take up the family mantle too soon, I hope. You know…if you're up to it, I would consider funding a little expedition, let you see a little more of the world. It's not all English breeding and French aristocracy, you know."

"I know, there's also Durstrang." Draco added, and he and his father laughed at this.

"Even though we always talked of you joining the family trade as soon as you graduated, I rather think my father was right. A year off, maybe two, what could it hurt? Look what it did for my father. It does lend a young man a certain amount of character, of adulthood, responsibility, understanding. Yes, I think it's just the thing for you. Well, what do you think?"

"I'd really like to. It's very generous of you—to fund the whole thing, I mean."

"Think nothing of it. But do you think Potter will approve?"

Draco had completely forgotten about his boyfriend, he realized with shock. With thoughts of India and Africa, of dragon dens and swamp monsters, he had had no thoughts left over for the boy.

Then he considered his father's words, and was automatically offended.

"Potter will just have to tolerate it. After all, it's not every lifetime my father offers to send me around the world free of charge."

And Lucius had looked happy.

Now, late at night, Draco felt both tired and exhilarated. In truth he was already planning his expeditions. He dreamed of it as he had often dreamed of things in his youth: of Quidditch World Cups with him as the star, of cunning dragon slayings and other such nonsense. He didn't go so far as to forget Harry completely in his planning. He would of course offer for the boy to accompany him. Harry, keen on beginning his Auror training, would refuse politely and they would go their separate ways for maybe a year. They'd still see each other, of course; it wasn't like he would never come and visit, or that Harry would never go visit him, wherever he might be. But also they would both be very busy of course. But Harry would be busy with Auror training in any case, no matter what Draco chose to do with his time. Wasn't it better, then, for Draco to please himself, keep himself busy, rather than pining over Harry, ruing the brunette's long hours, facing sleepless, bored nights in a mostly virginal bed?

And as for Harry approving, ugh, it just sounding too much like allowing, and no one allowed him to do anything. If he wanted to do it, he would. And, right now at least, he could think of nothing better than mucking through hot forests and sleeping on the ground and eating dirty fruit—just as his grandfather had done, just as his father had wanted so badly to do.

Then he walked through his bedroom door, and everything else left his mind.

Harry was slumped across the desk, face on the table top facing the door. Black hair had fallen into his eyes; one arm was curled in his lap, and the other was folded over the top of his head, elbow on the desk.

Draco smiled and shut the door silently behind him, leaning against the solid wood for a moment. How had he ever thought that Harry was ugly, arrogant, or stupid? Looking at him like this, cheeks pink with warmth, face slack and peaceful, it was so hard to hold anything against him. Since Harry was teetering on the edge of the seat, Draco came up behind the boy and straddled the seat, leaning his head on Harry's back.

Draco loved to hear that slow breathing, feel it pushing against him, and the steady heartbeat louder than his own.

Harry shifted and sighed beneath him and Draco leaned up to kiss the sliver of dark skin above his shirt collar.

"Hmmm, here." Harry grumbled. Draco laughed and stood up.

"Time to get into bed, love." Draco whispered into Harry's ear. The brunette sighed loudly and nodded without seemingly waking.

"Come on, up you get," Draco murmured, pulling his boyfriend up.

Harry groaned angrily, groggily, pouting furiously.  
"It can't be time for school, I need more sleep." Harry said, stumbling to a stand. Draco leaned Harry's tall frame against his own and Harry immediately took to it—settling himself in for a standing sleep. He leaned his head on Draco's shoulder and snuggled in, breathing slowly. Draco smiled happily and nuzzled that crazy black hair—it was so much softer than anyone could know just by looking at it.

He pulled Harry's T-shirt up his back, eased it over the boy's head and arms, and Harry went right back to leaning. Draco undid the SexyPants, for the first time appreciating their special abilities. He woke Harry enough for the boy to toe his way out of his trainers and Draco pulled the Gryffindor over to the bed and lied him down gently.

"Don't let me lose this, okay? I have to give it to Draco." Harry sighed, turning over in bed as Draco pulled the blankets up over Harry's bare brown shoulder.

"Lose what, babe?" Draco whispered.

"This," Harry sighed, opening his curled palm to reveal a thin silver chain necklace. "Will you give it to him? I don't want to forget."

"Yes. Of course I'll give it to him. Thank you, Harry." Draco sighed, and kissed Harry's forehead, taking the necklace from him.

The blonde slipped his engagement ring out of his pocket and slid it onto the chain before putting it around his throat. He smiled. He pressed his hand over the soothing weight of the ring on his chest and got undressed.

Harry's arms wrapped around him hungrily when he got into bed.

"Mmmm, you're home," Harry groaned happily, kissing the top of Draco's head over and over again.

"Yes, I'm home. I love you. I'm home." Draco didn't think of the Manor with this sentence, but of the pleasant heat of Harry's body and the comforting weight of Harry's arms around him.

XXXXX

A/N: Let's see if I can bust another out by the end of tomorrow! Let's also see if you guys can't muster up some reviews, eh? A challenge for the both of us!


	20. Somebody Give A Little

Harry turned over into wakefulness. The arms around his waist shifted around him during his move and settled back. Draco, already awake and sensing that his boyfriend was approaching consciousness, bit Harry's shoulder gently.

"Up and at 'em, good lookin'," Draco drawled. "We've got things to do today."

"It's too early in the morning to have things to do today." Harry groaned.

"My father invited the Parkinsons over for tea, so you've got to get up early to prettify yourself." Draco said, pushing on the broad back in front of him towards the edge of the bed.

"Parkinson, Parkinson…_oh_—you mean that girl you were going to marry before I seduced you and turned you gay? _That_ Parkinson?" Harry joked, digging his body immovably into the mattress.

"Ha. Ha." Draco said flatly and yanked the blankets back, climbing over Harry to get out of bed.

"Besides, I already have plans with Blaise today. We're going to use one of his mom's glamour charms and spruce ourselves up like rockstars and go to a fancy restaurant." Harry murmured, pulling the blankets back up around him cozily.

Draco gave the boy a look. It wasn't angry. It was more towards pitiful. It said, "Remind me again how I got mixed up with such a loser as yourself?"

"What? It'll be fun! Well, more fun than hanging out with your ex-wife."

"Oh my God, she's _not_ my ex-wife."

"Fine, your ex-_almost_-wife."

"That's about right."

"If I hadn't dragged you down into the muck of homosexuality, would you have married her?"

"Probably. It's perfectly acceptable for Malfoys to have mistresses, so most likely I would have married her, produced the required heir, and never touched her again."

"Aww, how romantic."

"Shut up. Come on, it's get-up time. You've got to look spiffy for her parents—they have to see that you were a much better choice than their little pug dog."

"The girl hates me. The whole family hates me. There's no way I'm getting within hexing-range of that lot. And I thought you and Pansy were friends? Why with the insults?"

"We _were_ friends. Now she's just a nuisance—the whole lot of them. They're just _aching_ for us to split up so they can insert their daughter into my bed. I'll be quite happy when you and I are finally married so they'll give up already."

"Precious. Well, have fun with that today."

"You're coming." Draco said happily.

"I'll probably be rocking out on the bass guitar on top of the bar by time you guys get around to murdering each other."

"You go ahead and keep on with this strange fantasy you're having. Come tea time you're going to be regurgitating niceties and passing out biscuits."

"You're just so funny!" Harry laughed. "Oh, the things that come out of your mouth. That was a good one. Well, you go get ready for your crazy play-date. I'm going back to sleep. Wake me at about noon so I'll have time to run to Blaise's and get on my dragon-hide skinny jeans, kay?"

Draco watched his lover for a moment, feeling content as he fingered the ring dangling from his necklace. Then he climbed up on top of the boy, fitting himself over the lanky body over the covers. He told himself he was going to seduce the boy to do his will, but if this was true then it proved how easily Harry could distract him. When the brunette pulled his arms from the covers and touched Draco's face, there was nothing else in the world. Harry closed his eyes and let his fingertips wander over Draco's pale skin, doing as symmetrical a job as he wished. The long, thin, boyish fingers went through silky white-blonde hair on either side, whispered down the back of a porcelain neck, along the wings of thin shoulders and into the hollow triangles above visible collarbones.

Harry slipped the edge of his pointer finger into the ring, tracing the design. When he opened his vibrant green eyes they looked mischievous and daring. They made Draco feel as if he were about to do something that was bound to get him in trouble.

"You know what I miss?" Harry purred, pulling Draco closer and murmuring against his cheek and neck and ear.

"What?' Draco whispered, swallowing painfully.

Instead of answering, Harry moved the teasingly-light touches of his fingertips to the small of Draco's back and moved them southward, making Draco gasp and drive his hips down into Harry.

"I'm thinking we should put that barn to good use again tonight. What do you say?"

"I say why wait till tonight?"

There was a loud knock on the door and Draco just managed to scramble under the covers to hide his nudity before Lucius lunged into the room.

"Come on, breakfast time! This habit of tardiness on your part, Draco, will not stand any longer. No more lounging about at all hours of the day, do you understand me?" Lucius growled, and slammed the door on Draco's demure, "Yes, sir."

"_That's_ why." Harry muttered, all vestiges of lust burned away by the volcanic anger of Draco's father.

"Come on. I don't know how you manage to always get me in trouble. Out of bed with you. Now." Draco said angrily, throwing back the covers and managing to take Harry by surprise, pushing the boy straight out of bed and onto a bruised heap on the bedroom floor.

"Ouch—hey! What the fuck?!"

"Oh shut up. And consequently, I don't think you should be taking that tone with me. You're marrying me, aren't you? I don't think you should be cursing at me—especially in that elephant voice of yours—anyone could here you!" With that Draco stormed into the bathroom loudly, leaving Harry stunned on the floor.

"I do not have an elephant voice!" Harry shouted so loudly that Lucius and Narcissa in the breakfast nook started.

"What in Merlin's name is that racket? You don't suppose to boys are having one of their little rows, do you?"

"Haven't the slightest. Pass the toast, would you dear?" Lucius said jovially.

"I don't mean to say that they fight an awful lot. Not _fight_."

"Having a volatile relationship means they're passionate. I think it's cute."

Narcissa eyed her husband carefully.

"Sometimes it's cute. Sometimes it's just mean."

"What are you saying? That you don't want them together?" Lucius asked, feigning shock.

"No, no. They love each other, obviously. I just think that maybe you and I shouldn't shout at each other so much. You know, give them a good role model."

"Whatever you wish, my precious darling."

"Oh shut up, you louse."

XXX

"Where are you going?" Draco asked tightly as he walked through the entry way only to see Harry putting on his winter cloak.

Harry looked up, startled. He hadn't seen Draco at all since breakfast, and frankly, with the boy's attitude, he had been hoping to keep it that way.

"I told you. Blaise and I are going to lunch."

"And_ I_ told _you_ that you're not. I already made plans for you. You're just going to have to tell your _little friend_ that you are unavoidably indisposed."

"Well, I don't say things like 'unavoidably indisposed,' so I'm pretty sure he'd know that it's _you_ who's saying I'm unavoidably indisposed. And to be quite frank, I don't much care for you making plans for me. I'm very capable of making my own plans."

"I'm not going to argue with you, Harry. Now put away your cloak and go get ready to welcome the Parkinsons."

Harry shook his head and ignored the boy, seeing how futile it was for him to talk. Instead he did up the clasps of his cloak and pulled on his gloves.

"_Harry_." Draco said dangerously. Harry turned a hardened, angry face to the blonde and was met with flaming gray eyes.

"I'm not a dog on a leach for you show off to your little friends. I'm a person and I've already made plans for today. So suck it up." Harry said tightly, and left.

Draco made an angry and frustrated noise in the back of his throat, trying not to go so far as to stomp his feet. He turned in a fury, only to see his father standing stoically at the top of the stairs.

"How long have you been there?" Draco asked, going from fury to embarrassed panic in an instant.

"Long enough. We have to talk." Lucius said flatly, eyes flashing.

Draco sighed in resignation and nodded, following his father to the study.

X

"Harry, what on Earth's the matter?" Blaise cried as Harry stormed past him in the doorway into the house.

"That asshole boyfriend of mine, that's what's the matter!" Harry growled, ripping at his cloak and finally getting it off, throwing it to the ground furiously.

"What do you mean? Come, sit down, calm down." Blaise said soothingly, leading Harry to the couch and rubbing his back softly, comfortingly.

Harry told him about the whole rotten morning, getting angrier as he talked about it, cursing and spitting with fury. Blaise let him vent, still rubbing his back in soft, soothing circles. Harry, when he was spent out on yelling, wondered where Blaise had learned such a peaceful technique as his mother was certainly no comfort-giver and so he couldn't have picked it up from her.

"Harry, I think you should go back there and have tea with the Parkinsons, like Draco said. We can go to lunch some other day, it's not important. And this tea party obviously means a lot to Draco for him to be so adamant about it." Blaise said softly when Harry was done.

"_What_?! No _way_ am I going back there now! Not after what he did to me. I'm not crawling back there and letting him think he won, no way." Harry growled.

"Harry, this isn't about your pride. It's not about what Draco thinks. You two need to be there for each other, and if you're the one that has to give first then that's just how it is."

"You don't know Draco. He doesn't reciprocate like that. It's not like I'll give in this time and he'll give in next time, he doesn't work like that. All me going back will do is feed his ego—he'll expect me to give in all the time. I've seen the way his little Slytherin mind works."

"That vision of Draco's character certainly explains his behaviour towards Crabbe and Goyle much better than my own theory." Blaise murmured distractedly, and Harry was automatically interested. Draco never even mentioned his two ex-body guards, and anytime Harry brought it up, even teasingly, Draco turned into an absolute clam.

"What happened between them? They were always so close."

"I don't know if _close_ is the word for it. They did have a certain reliance on one another. Not to be mean, but you took out one piece of that reliance and the whole thing fell to bits." Seeing that Harry still looked bewildered, Blaise went on. "Draco relied on Greg and Vince for protection, and they relied on him for directions. Once you two got together, Draco didn't need protection any more—you were there for him. I though that he might keep them around, as he generally likes to have someone to fulfill his every whim, but apparently…well you either gave that to him or broke him of it, I suppose."

"Probably I just gave it to him." Harry sighed exhaustedly.

"Yes, well, regardless…Draco didn't need Greg and Vince around anymore, so he got rid of them. I thought that he perhaps was a bit cruel with them, but he knew them better. It might have been easier, the way he did it…"

"How did he do it?"

"He just cut them out. Like a bullet in a wound--you just dig in and rip it out. He never talked to them, he stopped sitting with them, he shook them off in the halls and stopped sitting with them in classes. You should have seen the two of them; I've never seen anyone look so lost. If they hadn't had each other they wouldn't have had anyone. Nobody hands out friendship as charity in Slytherin. The more pathetic you are the more you're picked at."

"That's horrible. Are you friends with them?"

"I do what I can. They're like beaten dogs. I don't know if they'll ever recover. Draco was the only thing that gave their lives purpose, it seems. I cringe to think what they'll do after they graduate. They were always going to go into business with Draco."

"How the fuck can my boyfriend be so freaking evil?!" Harry cried with exasperation.

Blaise laughed, pushing his hair back off his forehead.

"He's not evil. He just doesn't always think of what his actions will do to other people—emotionally, I mean."

"That's what Hermoine says. That he's got no sense of empathy. But then how can he be so sweet to me, sometimes?"

"That a mystery for the masses. Or is it for the ages? I never know how that saying goes. Anyway, so long as he somehow has this capability to feel at least for you, isn't that enough?"

Harry twisted his mouth, not answering. _Was_ it enough?

X

Draco was convinced that the chairs on the opposite side of his father's desk were lower to the ground than they should be. Every time he sat here it felt as if he was looking up at his father at an inordinate angle, as if his father were two feet taller than him.

"I must say that I am not very impressed by your young beau's manners." Lucius said darkly, organizing the papers on his desk. He looked up suddenly and his icy eyes locked on Draco's, sending chills down the boy's spine.

"No, nor am I, sir." Draco said softly.

"I don't want a repetition of that stunt you pulled the other day in the restaurant, but I feel that the logistics of this relationship must be examined, especially considering the orientation of the parties involved. Homosexuality is of course not unheard of in the Malfoy lineage, but your relationship is obviously unprecedented. Whereas before a wife was necessary for a legitimate heir, the magic of the modern day has circumvented this necessity. Therefore, for the first time, male lovers find their way into the limelight and out of the harem. I do not have a problem with this, but it does put a certain strain on the Malfoy regulations for sexual activity."

Draco gulped audibly and Lucius eyed him with that freezing glance again, making him shiver.

"Now, without going into the sordid details you seemed to take so much pleasure in dirtying our lunch with the other day, tell me what I need to know." Lucius said tightly.

Draco opened his mouth and did as he was told.

XXXX

A/N: Whew! Another chapter out of the way! Just consider this one and number 19 as one chapted and it looks as if I did pretty good work this weekend—about 8 pages! Well…_I_ think that's pretty good…


	21. Disappointment

Harry took a deep breath and entered the bedroom. But Draco wasn't here, either. He had just gotten home—nearly an hour after their scheduled dinner, and after a day like today! But Narcissa had said that Draco hadn't seemed angry at dinner; the blonde had been completely consumed with learning everything his father could tell him about Africa or some such place.

Narcissa had told him that Draco was in his room—but then where was he? Harry noticed that the door to the parlor was open. He dreaded the coming altercation with every fiber of his being, but he steadied his breathing and entered the parlor. After all, they couldn't just not talk to each other for the rest of break, could they?

Draco was sitting on the couch in an awkwardly tense position, staring at rather than reading the book in his lap. He apparently hadn't noticed Harry's entrance. Rather than looking up, he was staring off into the space of the page before him, lips pursed, brows knit.

Harry, knowing that that terse look was a second away from being aimed at him, went forward anyway. It was like Blaise had said: they had to be there for one another, and if an end to this bitter argument required that one of them bend, then Harry would have to be the one to do it. Lord knew they'd break up if he left it up to Draco. That's how he tried to think of it now, seconds before invoking the wrath of his boyfriend: end this fight or break up.

"How was tea?" Harry asked bravely. His voice jolted Draco out of his reverie and the blonde shot him an angry, surprised glare as if to say, "I'm not talking to you!"

But instead of carrying this on, his face suddenly crumbled into a heavy, wavering pout. The only tones Draco could ever muster with his mouth in that set were a) whiny, and b) teary. Harry knew both of these tones studiously because they often required coordinating actions from him. When Draco whined Harry was expected to nod aggressively and agree with whatever he said. When he teared up Harry was expected to coddle him.

It was with a teary voice that he warbled out, "Hoorrrrrible!"

Harry, surprised but happy that he wasn't being turned to ash by an Angry-Malfoy-Glare, shook his arms into a coddling stance.

"Awww, poor baby!" Harry said consolingly, going over to his boyfriend and wrapping his long arms carefully around the boy's petulant body.

Draco dropped his head onto Harry's shoulder and folded his legs over Harry's, bending his body half into Harry's lap.

"Those people are evil! All Pansy did was snark at me the whole time and every time I snarked back my father gave me the most horrid icy glare and Mrs. Parkinson kept making all these snide little remarks about you and me and all I wanted to do was go for her chubby jugular and then that little wench brat—Pansy's ignoramus sister—was giving me the stink eye the whole fucking time! I hope the lot of them get trampled by a runaway troll!"

Harry pet back soft, white-blonde hair gently as Draco vented. When he was done he dropped his head back on Harry's arm, glowering up at the black-haired boy with silver-blue eyes.

Harry sighed, looking into their miserable depths.

"I'm sorry I didn't come with you today." Harry whispered, wishing immediately that he had, stroking Draco's cheek. The blonde's eyes closed softly.

"I don't really drag you around like a dog, do I?" Draco asked sadly, nuzzling the side of Harry's face.

"Sometimes. I don't mind."

"Liar." Draco said softly, and slid his arms around Harry's neck, pulling himself further into Harry's lap. "I just want everyone to like you as much as I do. How can they do that if they never get to see how wonderful you are?"

"I don't care what they think of me. I only care about you."

Draco pulled back smiling, and nudged the tip of Harry's nose with his. "I'm going to tell Ron and Hermoine and the rest of them that you said that," he said teasingly.

"Somehow, I don't think they'll be surprised." Harry murmured.

Draco moved sideways and scooted himself to Harry, pressing their sides together and sitting in the hollow between Harry's arm and his body, leaning his head back on Harry's shoulder again and pulling Harry's arms around him, playing with the long, slender fingers.

"So how's your little boyfriend?" Draco questioned, but sounded more teasing than angry.

"I don't know, how are you?" Harry asked playfully, and Draco smiled widely.

"Did you have a pleasant lunch today?" Draco asked, rubbing the top of his head against Harry's throat. Harry accommodated and dropped his head onto Draco's, smiling.

"It was okay," Harry shrugged. "Turns out I don't much like dressing up and pretending to be someone I'm not."

"_I_ could have told you _that_," Draco scoffed. Harry smiled and kissed the top of Draco's head.

"I know," he said fondly.

Draco sat up suddenly, throwing a leg over Harry's lap to straddle the boy playfully.

"You know what I just realized?"

"You're head over heels in love with me and you're going to spend the rest of your life cooking me breakfast?"

"Um, _no_. Besides, you're a much better cook than me. I realized that we just had our first fight!"  
"Yeah, right!"

"Well, _completed_ our first fight."

"Holy shit, you're …you're right! Usually we jump each other's bones halfway through arguing."

"I guess when you leave in the middle of the fight we end up actually _finishing_ it. Do you realize what this means?"

"I have to storm out of every argument from now on?"

"No," Draco said in a sultry voice, biting Harry's earlobe gently. "It means we get to have make-up sex," he whispered into the delicate shell.

"_Ohgodyes_."

"I know that angry-sex has always been freaking amazing, but I'm going to go ahead and say, based on the hype, that you're going to orgasm yourself into a coma."

"That should make your father easier to deal with." Draco stiffened in his arms and Harry kissed his lips ravenously hoping to undo what his thoughtless words had done.

It worked.

"You've got two seconds to get me to that fucking barn before I spear myself on your cock right here."

"Oh my god we should finish our fights more often."

"How on Earth is your fragile brain going to survive the mind-blowing sex we're going to have after our Annual Argument?"

"Oh, what do I need that old thing for, anyway?"

"Your two seconds are up…"

xXx

Agatha, the cow of Mr. and Mrs. Bell, had never heard a flurry of stripping before, but if she had had adequate hearing, she would have heard it then as Harry and Draco groped, kissed, and ripped off clothing exactly one floor above her.

Draco yanked Harry's T-shirt over his head, pulling his glasses along with and sexifying that luscious hair of his. Harry, in return, swept Draco's black dragon-hide belt free—Draco was momentarily shocked by the powerful motion of his arm, the torpid roiling of the muscles of his shoulders and chest, the ardent, predatory glint in his darkened green eyes.

They moved, free of clothes, to the ground, tongues waging war, each pushing hard against the other—celebrating their defeat of a foe, an argument, something that could prevent this, something strong and dangerous and stupid enough to come between them.

Just when Draco was about to pull back enough to whisper the charm, to slick himself enough for Harry's impassioned entry, he recalled his talk with his father that day.

"I want to be on top." Draco shot out, sounding panicked. In truth he was a bit alarmed—he had almost done exactly what his father had told him explicitly not to do! What was wrong with him? It was so unfair that Harry could drive him to such lengths of thoughtlessness.

"Okay," Harry panted readily, and kissed Draco hard before moving back to lie himself down eagerly. Harry never minded being bottom and he was fond of saying, "Beggars can't be choosers," although Draco hated it when Harry said that. "You wouldn't have to beg! Anybody in this school would be more than _euphoric_ over getting to fuck or be fucked by you!" Draco would always snarl back.

But at the moment, Draco was feeling much less than euphoric. He was feeling entirely put out, as if someone had walked in on them and Harry had told him to continue as usual.

And how come the brunette was so eager for it now, anyways? When they had first started up Harry had almost stopped before they even started because Draco refused to bottom. Harry had been absolutely adamant about it—there was simply no way he was going to bottom to Draco. It had taken them an extra two weeks to actually have sex because of this stubbornness. Yet here was little Boy Wonder, suddenly perfectly willing. It was entirely unfair, he had n—

Draco stopped suddenly. Stopped everything.

_What the fuck was going on down there?!_

He dropped his hand down to his once proud erection and was horrified—it wasn't in his mind: his erection was _definitely_ wilting.

"Come on, Draco! I want to hurry up and go into that coma you've been raving about." Harry chuckled.

Draco closed his eyes tightly, willing his body into compliance. _Shut up, shut up, shut up! _he thought, trying to concentrate on not deflating any further.

It was absolutely no use. There was nothing he could do. He was done for, down for the count, completely _fucked_. And not in the pleasant sense.

"Draco?" Harry asked with concern.

Draco looked up in sickened astonishment from his own body. Harry lie, panting and anxious, body spread out like a feast table, moon turning black hair navy blue, purple, indigo. Sheaths of smooth, unmarred skin were illuminated in the clear lighting. Green eyes shot down to the flaccid organ Draco was strangling, and back up to Draco's face, looking very much dismayed.

"Did I…?"

It was more than Draco could take.

"Oh, never mind!" Draco shouted angrily, causing Harry to jump slightly and Agatha to moo with surprise. The blonde yanked on Harry's cloak and Apparated with a violent _POP_!

Harry was motionless for a silent moment and then, with strenuous effort, reigned his limbs back in, trying all at once to hide his knobby knees and his boney ankles and his obvious ribs. He laid his head down on his knees and stayed that way for a few long minutes, despite the cold, despite the discomfort this position caused him, despite his own aching heart.

X

Draco Apparated to the gate and stomped through before Apparating to his room, storming around angrily. He wanted to hurt his treacherous body, he wanted to rip that horrible memory straight out of his brain.

His body froze at the fireplace.

God, Harry's face. Draco collapsed to the floor, legs becoming useless, covering his face with a shaking hand. How could he possibly explain this to Harry? He couldn't even explain it to himself. He was so embarrassed, so completely _humiliated_, he didn't think he'd be able to talk about it with Harry even if he _did_ somehow discover the reason for it.

Plenty of embarrassing things had happened to them, to the both of them, in the adventurous months they had shared—but _nothing_ like that. It made no sense! If anything, Draco was used to having the _opposite_ reaction: an overactive cock that, normally, he couldn't keep down if he wanted to. And now this? It was inconceivable! Draco didn't know how he would ever be able to face Harry again.

The Slytherin forced himself back onto his feet and forced himself to the bathroom to get ready for bed. With any luck he'd be asleep by time Harry (poor Harry! What must he be thinking!) returned. But with all this weighing on his mind, Draco had more hope than any kind of faith that he would be able to attain unconsciousness quickly and thus avoid his disappointed lover.

A _disappointed lover_! Draco doubted that there had ever been such a phrase produced at the hands of a Malfoy's libido and sexual prowess. Draco couldn't even concentrate on the horror of this fact, though. He just kept seeing Harry's dark eyes—confused and hurt.

Draco groaned painfully, and, for the first time, wished that he had never taken up with the boy, if only to save them both from this night.

X

When Harry returned, about a half hour later, Draco was still awake in bed, as he had known he would be. Still, the fact that Harry had come back while he was still conscious angered him more than he could pronounce.

So when Harry stood at the foot of the bed and said, faintly, "Draco…" the blonde responded visciously, "_Oh shut up about it, Potter!_"

Harry had actually jerked back with the violence of Draco's command, and Draco could see that the boy's lips were pressed tightly together as the brunette walked falteringly to the bathroom.

Draco fell asleep to the sound of running water, thinking but not knowing that he had disappointed Harry much more with his words than he ever could have with his body.

XXXXX

A/N: OMG THAT'S SAD!! **Sigh** sorry, guys, but I did warn you a little bit. Get out now while you still can! Only don't, because it's nice to have you guys around. Threaten me with bodily harm for this installment (or thank me for depressing you so punctually) on my nifty review board!


	22. Solution

Harry awoke once during the night, shaking slightly and damp with sweat. He had to assume that he had had a nightmare, but he couldn't remember any of it. It was still dark out and he felt exhausted, as if he had just fought the Hungarian Horntail again, or fought a Dementor.

A memory was triggered deep inside him, and, lying still on his side, he closed his eyes to better picture it.

Draco and he had been walking around the lake, but it was hot and arduous so they had stopped to cool off in the shade and rest. They had been laughing about something, and then fell into pleasant silence. Harry looked over the calm lake, thinking of fourth year and the merpeople, and apparently Draco's thoughts weren't far off.

"I was terrified, you know." Draco said softly, as if hoping he wouldn't be heard. Harry had turned to him, propped up on the balls of his hands. Draco refused to look back—he kept his eyes steady on the lake.

"What did?" Harry questioned.

"All of it," said Draco, glancing slightly in his direction. "I held my breath the entire time you were in that dragon pit. It seemed to take forever. I had planned on keeping my eyes closed, but I couldn't do it—I had to watch. And then when you took so long to come up to the surface on the second task…everyone was saying…my hands were fisted so tightly my nails cut through—there was blood all over my cloak."

Harry stared openly at the blonde, who dropped his eyes to his lap, as if embarrassed by his testimony. Harry remained silent, thinking. He didn't know what to do with this information. It was the first time Draco had brought it up. Harry had always just assumed that Draco had hated him right up to, even after, the point where Draco asked to have illicit liaisons with him.

Harry put his hand over Draco's and went back to gazing at the lake, smiling only when Draco shifted slightly closer so that just the points of their shoulders brushed together.

Harry sighed his way loose of this memory. He rolled halfway over so he could look behind him, and was slightly surprised. He had expected Draco to be at the other edge of the bed, where he had been sleeping soundly when Harry went to bed late last night. Instead, the blonde was curled into a tight ball at Harry's back.

The full moon outside was very bright, and Harry felt that he had never seen Draco so clearly. One of the blonde's arms was tucked into his chest, bent under his chin, and the other was only slightly freer, curving out from his body so that the back of his knuckles were touching Harry's ribs. Both legs were pulled tight up to his chest. Yet Harry was more interested in his face. It could have been the moonlight, but Harry thought that Draco appeared rather sickly, as if his skin had grayed in the last few hours. Then again, it could have also been the fact that Draco's face was so tense and drawn, brows furrowed even in sleep.

Harry's neck was aching from being twisted in such a position, and he moved slowly and silently to turn his body over to face Draco. The blonde groaned and tossed his head at Harry's maneuvering, stretching his legs down peevishly, sliding them against Harry's. Sensing another body close by, Draco's hand groped further, colliding gently with Harry's chest and twisting in the fabric of his T-shirt. Draco's body followed his hand, shifting in close. Harry sighed happily and put an arm lightly over Draco's waist, scooting even closer in, holding the length of Draco's body against the length of his own.

He fell asleep like this, happy again.

He woke up like this—three hours later.

Draco was still sleeping, but Harry realized that it was the blonde's waking movements that had woken him and he had just gained enough wakefulness to move his hand to stroke Draco's hair when the blonde sat bolt upright in bed—jolting Harry's adrenaline systems into overdrive.

"What time is it?!" Draco shouted.

"I—I don't know! It's—it's 8:30." Harry said over the lump of his jittering heart in his throat, checking the clock.

"Fuck! _Why didn't you wake me up_?!"

"I didn't know I was supposed to—breakfast isn't till nine! What's wrong?" Harry questioned as Draco scrambled angrily out of bed, but the boy slammed the door of the bathroom before answering Harry.

Harry shook his head in disbelief at the two-second hurricane that had just demolished his sense of tranquility, and flopped back into bed trying to mentally work his heart back into his chest cavity.

In less than two minutes Draco was back in the bedroom, clothed, hair slicked back into a shiny white-blonde helmet.

"What the fuck did you do to you hair?" Harry blurted out, and immediately clapped a hand over his mouth. Words like these were punishable by death, but Draco only glared at him maliciously, and chose to yell at him rather than murder him.

"I suppose you think it's really hilarious, making me late again—and after everything my father said yesterday, too! And they say Gryffindor's are considerate!"

"Hey, I _am_ considerate!"

"_Considerate_ boyfriends wake their boyfriends up in time to not piss of their fathers! You better get the fuck downstairs straight away before I take it out on your backside!"

Harry bit back his retort. It was going to be, "You can't keep it up long enough to take anything out on my backside!" and even though he didn't say it, he saw Draco blanche just as if he had.

Before anything else could be done, anything towards the soul-searching heart-to-heart Harry was hoping for, Draco Apparated.

"Pansy!" Harry shouted, glowering at the spot Draco had just vacated. "Treats heartfelt discussions like the Forbidden Forest, that little coward!"

Fists clenched and breathing warped, Harry realized he was no longer the sympathetic, hurt boy from last night—from even three hours ago. He had unwittingly done what Draco had been trained to do all of his life: he had transformed his hurt into anger. And since Draco refused to let him vent his anger with words, he would have to do it with actions.

Harry showered slowly, dressed slowly into his most beat up pair of jeans, put on his most tattered T-shirt, ruffled his hair into its messiest, and made his way slowly to the breakfast nook.

To see only Narcissa.

"What? Where's Draco?" Harry asked angrily. His passive-aggressive stunt was for nothing. And, Harry thought angrily, Draco had specifically told him to come down here only to disappear! That boy was bossing him around like nobody's business and for what? Just to prove that he could?

"Oh, Draco went out to breakfast with Lucius. They have some business in town today."

"Again?" Harry asked glumly, dropping into his chair.

"Yes, but I don't think they'll be as long today."

"Are they always this busy?"

"Lucius can be very busy at times, yes, but he doesn't usually involve Draco so much. I think he's finally realizing that Draco's going to be running this family, sooner rather than later."

"He is?" Harry asked, and realized that his voice sounded squeaky with panic. Draco was going to be doing this all the time—as a career? All the running about the country tracking down meetings with goblins and lawyers and realtors?

Harry had a flash premonition of their future together, set in the Manor rather than Harry's dream home in the country, himself seated at the long lonely dining room table with glum children, all of them pushing food around their plates slowly, trying to make dinner last long enough for Draco to make it. Finally the blonde strode in, long hair and vicious face, haughty and cold.

"Wizangamot's ruling went long," was all this Draco said, and nothing further. No apologies and seemingly no regret.

Could Harry really live like that—so lonely, in this huge, alien Manor all on his own, Draco running off at every other moment?

_I'll be busy, too. _Harry thought. _Auror training is time consuming too. _

But Harry knew that if he had to choose between Auror training and getting home on time to eat dinner with his children, he would choose the latter. What else was there in this world? What was more important that the people that he loved? It couldn't even be called a choice. His family would always be most important to him. Could the same be said of Draco? If the last week was any indication…

Harry glanced at Narcissa, but she didn't seem to be the lonely wretch his mind's eye pictured.

_She's stronger than me. I couldn't function like this, never seeing my family. _

"Was Lucius around much when Draco was young?"

"Are you kidding? Apart from work, Draco was Lucius's only concern. Well, and me, I like to think. Ugh, but Lucius and Draco were absolutely inseparable. What's that term you kids use? Mamma's boy? Well Draco was a Daddy's boy through and through. It turned Draco into a complete prick, and while I can smack Lucius, I could never smack my son—I think that's why he nearly turned out the way he did: not enough smacking."

"I don't think I could smack my children either." Harry admitted.

"Well then you'll have kids just as bratty as Draco could be. Although I do have to say that he's appeared to turn out just fine. Oh my, look at the time! And I have a hair appointment in an hour! I'll be late, oh my, I still have to get dressed and get my makeup and do my hair!"

"You're going to get your hair done. Why do your hair?"

"Oh, Harry, I can't show up like this!" Narcissa cried, sounding exactly like her son, motioning to her perfect hair and creamy skin and pristine silk robe that looked more like a dinner gown.

"Oh, right. I see." Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"You'll be able to keep yourself entertained, won't you Harry?" Narcissa asked on her way out of the room.

"Oh sure. I should get my practice at least. I anticipate a lot of entertaining myself in the future." Harry sighed to the closed door Narcissa had just left through. _In more ways that one if Draco's little problem persists. _He thought bitterly.

This thought caused him just as much pain as it did Draco, hundreds of miles away just finishing breakfast with his father.

X

"Whatever is the matter, my boy? You look positively sickly." Lucius said, as if this was Draco's personal fault and the boy should do something about not looking as pristine as a Malfoy should.

"I'm sorry," Draco said immediately. He mentally kicked himself in the head—he should have done something about his grayish complexion before he left the Manor—oh but he had been in such a hurry—and all that lousy Potter's fault!

"Well, is something wrong with you?"

"Ugh, more than I can say." Draco groaned impetuously, and immediately cringed at his plebian outburst. Lucius only eyed him keenly.

"Well, what is it that's troubling you, then? Something with that boy of yours perhaps?"

"Kind of." Draco murmured. "I don't really want to talk about it. It's highly embarrassing—and I don't think you'd enjoy hearing of it either."

"None of this, come now, what is it? Not something I'd enjoy hearing, you say? So…something sexual?"

Draco nodded miserably. Only that gaze of his father's could force him to go on.

"Um, have you ever had problems…doing _that act_…?"

"The all important act, I'm guessing. Well, I've never done that particular…do you mean with your mother?"

"I'd prefer not bringing Mother into this." Draco said, cringing at the mental image.

"_Problems_ you say?"

Draco couldn't speak. He only nodded, face burning red, hands shaking as he brought a glass of water to his lips and gulped it painfully down.

"Hm…problems? I'm afraid I don't understand the logistics of what you do exactly—that kind of…logistical problem?"

Draco shook his head, eyes focused on the tablecloth.

"Oh, then with…did Harry…?"

"No. It's a problem with _me_. Something's wrong with me. I was trying to do like you told me yesterday, but…I…I had a problem."

"As in…oh! Oh! Oh my. Oh. I see. The Problem."

"Has that ever…to you?"

"Well, a couple times during the war…"

Draco perked up immediately.

"So it goes away? It's just a one-time thing, right?"

"Well…"

"Well what?" Draco asked, voice fleeing into a higher octave out of panic.

"Once, when the war was especially bad and things were getting especially tense…The Problem stayed for a few months. But it did go away on its own. I can't say how long it will last. Sometimes it's a one-time things and sometimes it's a bit more prolonged…"

"So, what causes it?" Draco thought that he saw a faint glint in his father's eye, but it passed so quickly that he couldn't be sure, and there were such more important things to worry about right now.

"I have heard that…perhaps Harry just doesn't appeal to you in that way any longer?"

Draco felt as if his whole body had tensed up—even his hair follicles, clamped as they were under an inch of gel.

"No." Draco said firmly. "No, that can't be it. That most certainly is _not_ it."

But if his father thought that so easily…what on Earth could Harry be thinking right now? The brunette was always the first to blame himself, always the first to point the finger and always at himself, always willing to think the worst of himself before anyone else could beat him to it. If his father jumped to such a conclusion then Harry must have completely surpassed that conclusion and jumped to the most extreme version: that Draco thought him too hideous to sleep with, that Draco would dump him for someone gorgeous—the boy might even be packing his bags right now! There was only one way to prove the boy wrong—and it would have to be proven rather than said. The brunette put so much more stock in actions than in words.

"Dad, is there anything, anything at all to fix The Problem?" Draco asked softly, hopefully.

Lucius looked around at the nearly empty restaurant and leaned in closer to talk.

"Well, as a matter of fact, shortly after my months-long Problem, I happened across a certain book that apparently belonged to your grandfather. It should make this Problem go away completely, from what it says. I believe it's still where I found it—in Grandfather's old desk in the Library. But I'd be careful about telling Harry, it's a bit…_darker_ than your squeamish boy would appreciate."

XXX

There was a knock on the front door that Blaise immediately recognized for its strength yet hesitation.

He smiled to himself in the mirror as he was doing his hair and glanced at the clock. That boy was showing up earlier and earlier it seemed—Blaise had only just gotten up not half an hour ago. If it kept going like this, Harry would end up spending the night to save time.

Blaise messed his hair up on one side and rubbed his eyes before stumbling down to answer the door still in his pajamas.

"Oh, hello, Harry," he said, and yawned. "Oh, sorry! I only just got up."

"Really? It's nearly ten." Harry said, looking perplexed. Blaise backpedaled—apparently he was dealing with somewhat of an early bird.

"Well, I had a late night I'm afraid, trying to make headway on all my homework. Won't you come in? It's a bit chilly out here."

"Oh, yeah, sure, of course." Harry murmured, jumping inside and taking a seat on the couch.

"So, what's up?" Blaise questioned. There was obviously something going on with the boy to show up this early and with that scowl on his face.

"Hmph, not my boyfriend, that's for sure." Harry muttered angrily, and then made a peculiar motion with his mouth, as if trying to bite his words back into his throat.

"What?" Blaise said, feigning confusion even though there could only be one thing that Harry meant by this. "What do you mean that Draco's not up? Is he still sleeping? But no, because you'd be with him if that were the case, of course. Not up—or—oh! Not…you couldn't mean…are you serious?"

"You can't tell Draco that I told you! He'd _murder_ me! _God_, he was embarrassed enough in front of _me_…" Harry seemed to drift into thought and a miserable look took over his face. "Not that it was even his fault."

"Things like that aren't anybody's fault, Harry! Yours or his!" Blaise said adamantly, gripping Harry's arm, then softened his voice to say: "I…well…not to flatter you or anything but…you happen to be very attractive, Harry."

He turned away as if embarrassed, and Harry couldn't scoff at that as he would have liked to. It obviously took so much for Blaise to say—he couldn't scoff in the face of that.

"Thanks. You're…you're not bad looking yourself." Harry said awkwardly, and Blaise laughed.

"Oh God, let's stop with the heart-to-hearts. I'm sure it's just a one-time thing—Draco will be back on the horse in no time."

"Screw the horse—if he gets on top of anything it should be me." Harry said petulantly.

XXX

Draco took a steadying breath and opened his grandfather's drawer. Empty.

"_Argh_!" Draco shouted, shaking the desk angrily. He shook it so hard the other drawers came loose and rattled open.

"Oh, right." Draco said, remembering that there wasn't only one drawer for the book to be in.

He found it—a heavy untitled tome under a stack of letters in the bottom drawer. He cracked it open, revealing crinkled, yellowed pages with heavy black handwriting covering the pages, some with pictures.

Some pages contained spells and others potions. Draco flipped to the table of contents and quickly found a chapter entitled _The Problem_ and moved there straight away.

"Perfect!" He shouted happily, and ran with the book to his potions lab.

XXX

"I don't get it. If breakfast isn't till nine, then why would he be pissed at me for not waking him up at 8:30? That's enough time—even for him." Harry was venting, lying on Blaise's tiger in front of the warm fire, sitting up every now and again to drink the best hot chocolate he'd had outside of Hogwarts.

"Well, in most pureblood families the father gets to breakfast about a half-hour early at least to read the paper and organize or plan the daily business. I'm not sure exactly—I don't have a father so I've never actually seen it done. My mother's usually late to breakfast if she shows up at all. She likes to sleep in a lot." Blaise said from the bathroom where he was just now getting dressed. The door was open so he could still talk to Harry, but from his vantage point on the tiger-skin rug, the brunette couldn't see anything of the Slytherin.

"Is Zabini your mother's maiden name then?"

"Oh yeah—she gets it changed back after every marriage."

"How many times has she been married?"

Harry heard a clatter of something hitting the floor and, feeling like the idiot he obviously was, jumped up and went to the bathroom door.

Blaise was just stooping to pick up his hair brush, and pulled himself back up slowly, glancing at Harry only for a moment.

"I'm sorry." Harry said softly.

"It's okay." Blaise replied, and put on a painful smile that made Harry feel the intense need to take the fragile boy in his arms and protect him.

Luckily something began beating at the window just then, and Harry rushed awkwardly out to see Hedwig scrabbling for purchase on the smooth, icy windowsill.

"Draco must be home," Harry explained. "I told Hedwig to come and get me when he returned." Harry let her in and gave her a treat to ease her annoyance before sending her back.

"Afraid he'll find out where you spend your days?" Blaise chuckled, emerging from the bathroom joyfully.

"God yes. I mean, the boy is down right terrifying." Harry joked. "I just wanted to catch him for a little talk, is all."

"Oh Merlin, you're not going to talk to him about…about _that_, are you?!"

"I just…I just want him to know that I'm not upset with him or anything. I mean, I'm angry, but not because of that. Like you said, that at least wasn't his fault."

"You're misquoting me, Harry. I said it wasn't _anybody's_ fault." Blaise corrected him softly. But Harry only dropped his gaze and grabbed his cloak from the bed.

"Well, I'll see you later probably." Harry murmured on his way out the room.

X

Draco had just finished his potion and was about to hug his miracle book when he saw the illustration for the previous potion: a woman throwing herself at a stoic man's feet in ecstasy.

_Presence of Mind: Potion _the heading said in ancient handwriting.

Draco read through its introduction and wanted to whoop with joy.

_Let's see Potter get to me through this! _he thought eagerly, and started on this potion as well.

When he was finished a little under an hour later, he bottled both potions in his new vials and did the lids tight before going to find his mother. He had no time to lose checking over the whole Manor for his inquisitive boyfriend—his mother was much easier to track down.

"Mum, have you seen Potter?"

"Potter is it now? How affectionate." Narcissa murmured from her horrible knitting.

"Muuummmm, where is it?"

"Decided to spend some time with the poor boy, then? You do know that he's been nothing but bored for days now, don't you? You're lucky he's good at making friends or he'd be an absolute vegetable from all this under-stimulation."

"Don't worry about that." Draco said lecherously, but his mother only raised an eyebrow.

"He's in your room, doing his homework. See what you've reduced him to? He's so bored he's being responsible. No boy should be pushed to that on his Christmas holiday."

But Draco was already out the door.

_Of course he's in my room—and only a floor above my potions lab! Ugh, why can't the boy stay put—has me running all over the castle looking for him! _Draco thought angrily, and then stopped.

"Good thing I've got you, babe." He said, pulling a vial of thin black liquid from his pocket and he downed it in one gulp before pouring the other dose down his throat and shaking both tastes from his mouth bitterly.

"Ugh. Okay, all systems go! Let's do this thing!" Draco cried softly, and pushed open the door to his room.

Harry jerked up from reading his Charms homework, and stood tensely in front of the desk.  
"Draco, I needed to ta-umph!" the rest of his words were blocked from escape by Draco's lips, suddenly all over him. "Mmm!"

Harry tried to pull away for a moment, but forgot about escape when Draco slipped his tongue into the boy's mouth.

"Ah!" Harry gasped softly when Draco ground their erections together.

"Oh the bed. Now." Draco demanded, and Harry nodded, stripping away clothes as he scrambled onto the bed.

Draco moved slowly to follow—he could feel the effect of the black potion, could feel his mind pulling away from his body, keeping his thoughts clear and unaffected by his body's tumultuous reactions.

It almost felt as if he were in a dream, watching from a distance as a look-alike of himself undid his trousers and climbed up onto the bed, pulling Harry's pants off his long, tan legs.

_How on Earth could he think he's unattractive? Well, I'm going to show him exactly how sexy I think he is. _Draco thought, and watched as his own arms pushed Harry's legs apart.

"Hey, you have to prep me! It's been a long time, you know." Harry said, pushing Draco's approaching hips away.

"Ugh—can't you do it?" Draco whined. This was the worst part of being on top—Draco hated dealing with technicalities—he'd much rather move straight to the main event.

"Oh, come on, Draco! I always prep you." Harry complained.

"Don't be such a baby, you'll be fine." Draco replied, pulling Harry's hips closer to his own.

"Hey—stop it! Fine, I'll do it myself if you're going to be a prick about it." Harry growled, shoving Draco away and propping himself up on the pillows.

Draco sighed with annoyance—this erection wasn't going to last forever; Harry was being such a pansy. How was he supposed to show Harry how hot Draco thought he was if the boy pissed him off so much?

Draco watched what he had only seen once before as Harry murmured the spell he needed and spread his legs, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling as he slipped one finger inside himself, biting his lip.

He remembered that the last time he had seen this he had been driven nearly mad with lust. It was a testimony of the abilities of this potion that he was even capable of the mental feat of memory. Instead of panting wildly and stroking himself from impatience, he was so calm he was actually bored. He watched the clock for awhile, he watched Harry impersonally like a play he had already seen and only marginally liked.

_He really is too thin. _Draco thought, drumming his fingers impatiently on his thigh. Harry's ribs protruded with every gasping breath. It wasn't even that the boy didn't have enough fat on him—it was that Harry's bones were made to have more meat to cover them. If Harry had Draco's refined bone structure he would look absolutely fine even at the same height and weight.

"Aren't you done yet?" Draco sighed. "Come on, it's my turn!"

"I'm not a toy—it's nobody's bloody turn." Harry growled, but it wasn't very intimidating what with all his panting and sighing.

"Hurry uuuuuuup!" Draco whined.

"Ugh, just do it." Harry said, pulling his hand away, and that was all Draco was waiting for.

In under a second, Draco had lined himself up and shoved himself in, eliciting a painful cry from Harry and the brunette gripped Draco's hips to hold them in their place, preventing a further breeching of his body.

"Are you kidding me? I take it much further than that when I do it." Draco complained.

"Well I'm not as used to it as you are!" Harry said in a strained voice, face screwed up tightly.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Draco asked angrily, but Harry didn't answer. He didn't need to answer, Draco thought; they both knew exactly what he meant. As revenge for that little insinuation, Draco drove himself in another inch, undoing the work Harry had done at calming his body.

"Agh—Draco! You're hurting me!" Harry cried, face pained.

"Oh Merlin, you're such a baby—how on Earth do you manage against Dark Lords with no pain tolerance?"

"Can we please _not_ talk about terrifyingly disfigured people who want to murder me painfully while we're having sex?" Harry asked tightly, holding Draco firmly in place with one hand and stroking his dying erection back to life with the other.

"Now who's having Problems?" Draco asked in a snide voice, and for a moment when their eyes met Draco realized what an absolute pillock he was being.

_I'm supposed to be doing this to show him that I want him. Why am I contradicting myself? _Draco thought. He was suddenly terrified that he was doing this to prove that he physically could—not for Harry at all.

But then the moment was over and Draco could feel Harry's body loosen its hold on him, and he was able to slide in fully. Everything else was ignored.

X

Harry moved tenderly from the shower and began to dry himself with slow, wide sweeps of the soft towel. He felt as if he had just fought a Blast-Ended Skrewt for as sore and confused as he was.

In the wide mirror he could see his full body, and saw that he looked as confused as he felt. He could also see how clear his skin was—there were absolutely no marks on him. This was odd for him, because he had just finished having sex (if it could be called that) with what had to have been Draco, although he hadn't acted like Draco. No, that wasn't right. He had acted just like Draco—just not the Draco that Harry normally had sex with.

Normally, even when they were truly pissed the fuck off at one another, it all seemed to come into focus when they had sex. Sex would be more violent, more passionate, more painful, but those bouts always left Harry absolutely wrung out with pleasure. When they were happy they had happy sex, when they were angry they had angry sex: they used different techniques, but it always came to the same conclusion: Harry was satisfied down to the marrow of his bones.

He had never experienced sex like the bout he had just had—a sex that left no marks on his body but so many on his mind.

It was scary to think of, but it was almost as if he had had sex with a Polyjuiced version of Draco—only slightly off from the original; off just enough to terrify him.

Draco had pulled off him when he was done—without his normal cry of ecstasy when he came, without the random babbling leading up to orgasm—and walked calmly to the bathroom. Left alone, Harry found himself pulling the comforter abashedly over his nakedness. He hadn't come, but Draco didn't seem to have noticed. The blonde cleaned himself up and changed slacks and left, all without even saying a word to Harry.

Even when he and Draco had just started up, when he was sneaking around to have meaningless sex with the most evil boy he had ever met, Harry hadn't felt this low and dirty.

He jumped right into the shower and scrubbed every inch of skin he could reach, but there was no touch to scrub off—Harry didn't think Draco had touched him at all through the entire ordeal (God, he was even thinking of it as an _ordeal_!) except where it was anatomically necessary. The blonde had propped himself up on his hands, done his business, and left.

Standing naked in front of the mirror, Harry closed his eyes at the mere thought.

Something must be wrong. First whatever that was last night in the barn, and then this—something was wrong. But what could he do? Talk to Draco about it? It didn't even feel like the same Draco. Whoever that was that had just fucked him, Harry knew that it couldn't have been Draco, not the Draco he knew, anyway.

Harry realized that this Draco fucked the way Harry imagined Draco would before he gained first hand experience that he was mistaken. This Draco was the reason he had refused to bottom—he hadn't wanted this Draco on top of him.

Harry cringed and got dressed gingerly.

X

"So, how was it?" Lucius asked suggestively.

"I don't know. It was okay." Draco replied, dropping, tired, into the chair in front of his father's desk.

"Just okay?" Lucius asked with shock.

Draco shrugged. "I took another potion to keep my mind clear, so it didn't really feel like much. I mean, my body seemed to enjoy it, but it was like feeling it all through a filter. I don't know. It's all kind of boring if you can't really feel it."

"Oh, that's too bad. Maybe you could lessen the dose next time."

"Next time?"

"Well, you're always complaining that you can't really focus during sex and you end up embarrassing yourself. Here's a potion that can put an end to that. You just have to work out the perfect amount."

"It's not that embarrassing. Mostly I just say things I didn't mean to say. It feels much better without the potion—I'd rather feel good and sound stupid than be able to recite the multiplication table but feel nothing."

"Malfoys Do Not Sound Stupid." Lucius recited darkly, but the effects of the potion hadn't worn off yet, so Draco couldn't feel nervous.

"It's just Harry. He doesn't care if I sound stupid. Mom doesn't care when you say stupid things, I bet."

"I don't say stupid things during sex." Lucius said in a haughty voice.

"You must not be having very good sex, then." Draco said, and before his father could squawk he went on. "Well, I've got to get down to dinner. I really worked up an appetite."

Lucius sat there with his mouth gaping for a few moments before scowling. Stupid son. Like he knew. Although it was true that lately Lucius would have been happy just to get not-very-good-sex. It was vastly better than the current no-sex he was not-enjoying.

XXXXX

A/N: Damn that Draco is a jerkwad! I know, I know, I'm ruining all of your days with shit like this; you all expected a light-hearted twenty-chapter fluff story. Well guess what? I don't know. This is what came out when my hands hit the keyboard. I'm sure it's going to get better, though—I like happy endings just as much as the next sappy gal. It's got to get worse before it gets better, though. Well, maybe not _worse_. It's got to stay like this for a while before it gets better, or at least fluffier.


	23. Side Effects

Draco could feel the longer-lasting effects of the black potion ebbing from his body as he ate dinner, but he got the strange sensation that it was being replaced with something else. Whereas before his mind was able to boss around his body to the exclusion of his heart, the emotional ranting of his mind was making it obvious that the side effect was that his heart was now controlling his body _and_ his mind.

And where was Harry? This was dinner time, and everyone else was here—so where was Harry?

Draco was overcome with a wave of need for the brunette, and he felt like throwing a tantrum the likes of which even his six-year-old self couldn't equal with Harry not being immediately at hand.

"Where's Harry?" Draco pouted angrily, shoving his food away from him. He wouldn't take another bite without Harry here, even if he starved to death. Let his parents try to force him.

"He had his dinner sent up to his room. Of course I can't see why on Earth he wouldn't want to have dinner with a little bundle of sunshine like yourself." Narcissa replied demurely.

"Don't make fun of me!" Draco cried.

Lucius and Narcissa froze in their movents—this tone of voice brought back Pavlov responses long buried: Narcissa had the sudden urge to coddle her son, and Lucius was already reaching for a Galleon to give the boy.

There was no time, however, as Draco shoved himself up from the table and ran to his room on the verge of tantrum-tears.

"What the fuck was that?" Lucius questioned, putting his money bag away.

"You've got me. I haven't heard that voice come out of him since he was seven."

"I wonder if it's because of that po—oh!"

"What?"

"Um…nothing." Lucius said off-handedly. "Let's talk about Draco some more. What on Earth was that little grown-up tantrum about?"

"Apparently about me making fun of him. Well, whatever's wrong with him, I'm sure it's somehow tied back to you, so I'm extending your celibacy by another week."

"NOOOO!!!!"

X

"Harry!" Draco exclaimed joyously upon entering the room, forcing Harry to look up begrudgingly from his homework.

"Wha—" Harry couldn't even get out that much before he found himself with a lap full of Draco. He rounded his spin to take the extra weight off his sore ass, trying to pull back enough to see what was going on.

"Draco what are you doing?" Draco had both arms thrown around Harry's neck and he appeared to be…nuzzling him? But not his normal, semi-embarrassed brand of shy, sweet nuzzling; this was full-on, aggressive, Lavender-Brown-snuggling. Harry tried hopelessly to blow loose strands of blonde hair out of his mouth. Some strands were coming ungelled while others were still shellacked back, turning Draco's nuzzling into a kind of head-butting.

"I missed you!" Draco cried happily.

"Are you okay?" Harry questioned, holding the blonde away from him to give him a look-over. He seemed fine, maybe a little loopy. His eyes, which normally had a sly mechanism clicking behind them even during the mushiest of moments, looked as if the machinery had stalled, leaving only two blue pools of shining affection without any thought behind them.

"I'm super fine!" Draco replied happily, giving Harry an Eskimo kiss. Harry pulled back with aggravation, setting the light blonde on the floor and off his sore body.

"Will you knock it off? You'd think you'd have had enough for one day." Harry muttered.

"Enough? Of you?" Draco laughed, going behind Harry and wrapping his arms around Harry's neck again.

"Stop it, I'm trying to work." Harry grunted, pulling out of Draco's cloying grasp and taking up his books to go into the parlor.

"What's wrong?" Draco asked in a small voice around the finger he was nibbling.

"Just leave me alone." Harry growled.

"Harry?" but the brunette didn't reply as he headed for the parlor room.

"Harry!" the voice was like a cry of pain ripped from a torture victim—hard with pain and wet with tears. Harry nearly dropped his books from turning so fast.

In their eight months together, Harry had only seen Draco _really_ cry once, and he still didn't know the reason behind it.

But as he turned now he was amazed to see tears running in rivulets down Draco's face, a face so pained and agonized and _worried_ that it stole Harry's breath for a moment.

Draco's hands were clasped at his stomach, his whole body curved in on itself, as if against a savage and terrifying enemy.

"Harry." The name broke from Draco's lips on a shaking sob, small and pitiful, and Harry had no choice but to rush over and take the slim blonde roughly into this arms.

The Slytherin clutched at him as if afraid the very ground would suck him up and carry him away, as if he were struggling to keep Harry from some supernatural and undefeatable destroyer.

"What on Earth's wrong with you?" Harry murmured, truly perplexed, but the only reply he got was a jolting sob.

"I don't want you to leave me!" Draco sobbed harshly—Harry had never heard his voice like this. It seemed alien to hear this voice coming out of Draco.

"I'm not going to leave you, Draco. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere." Harry promised, but Draco would not be calmed.

"We're going to be happy, aren't we Harry?" Draco pleaded, pulling back enough to look at Harry.

"I thought we were happy now?" Harry said in a daze, staring at this foreign face with torpid pink splotches and shining, wet cheeks and soggy eyes.

"Are you happy?" Draco asked softly after a nervous pause.

Harry was silent for a moment. What could he say? Right now, at this moment? Of course not—after the day he had had, after last night, with this confusing creature in his arms? How could he be happy?

But still he steadied his gaze stoically into Draco's watery grey-blue eyes and said, "Yes." in as strong a voice as he could muster.

Draco stared back at him, knowing it was a lie but wishing it was true, and pushed his head onto Harry's chest, resting there, exhausted.

After a few minutes of listening to Draco's breathing slow and stop hitching, Harry moved the blonde to the bed. When he made to get a hand towel from the bathroom, Draco made a displeased, keening sort of noise and clutched his arm. So Harry wiped Draco's eyes on his cuff and settled in as Draco wanted him, so that the blonde was lying half on top of him with his head on Harry's shoulder.

Harry felt too awake to sleep, so he lie there, unmoving, as Draco stroked the back of his hand, his fingers, his wrist absentmindedly, tracing them.

"Let's spend tomorrow together. Just you and me." Draco whispered after a long while, looking at Harry after staring into space for so long. "We can wake up together and I'll make you breakfast and we can on a walk for all day, nobody but you and me."

Harry stared tensely into the faraway blue eyes before nodding. Draco smiled lethargically, lying back down.

"What do you want me to make you?" he questioned happily.

Harry realized what was wrong with the voice: it was much to slow, too melodically childish, not at all like Draco's normally serious tones.

"I don't know. Whatever you want." Harry replied distantly, trying to figure out what it was, exactly, he was holding in his arms. It couldn't be Polyjuice. People who had never heard of Draco Malfoy could act more like Draco than this.

"Pancakes, then. Chocolate chip pancakes with smiley faces. Do you like pancakes?" Draco asked, sounding suddenly unsure. Harry nodded distantly, and Draco calmed, resting sleepily in Harry's arms.

"I love you, Harry." Draco murmured before he fell asleep.

"…Okay."

X

When Harry was sure the blonde was asleep he eased his way out from under him and set about undressing for bed. When he was finished he started to undress Draco. He had done this before, back at Hogwarts, but Draco was a reasonably light sleeper, and he always woke up soon into the act.

Although Harry moved the blonde's limbs roughly, Draco didn't wake as Harry divested him of his shirt. Nor when he yanked the tight black slacks down the slender, golden legs.

Harry noticed a faint _click_-_clack_ing when he folded Draco's slacks, and reached inside the pocket to find it stuffed tightly with two small vials—the vials Harry had given him for Christmas.

The brunette held them dazedly in one hand for a long moment before looking to his boyfriend, blonde eyelashes still clumped together with wetness.

One vial was clear but seemingly used. The other was clouded by a thin layer of black, a drop of the dark liquid still left at the bottom. Harry undid the top to this vial and sniffed it carefully. It smelt vitally familiar, sort of like overcooked porridge, but he couldn't place its trigger in his memory. He dipped a finger inside and wiped it on the glass, pulling up a smudge of black on his fingertip. He licked it carefully, feeling stupid until he recognized the taste.

That was the bitter taste that had been on Draco's lips when he kissed the blonde this afternoon.

(A/N: This was where I was going to end it, you little devils. Pretend like there's a dramatic pause between this last section and the next, k?)

xXXXx

When Harry woke up, Draco was already gone.

Harry got out of bed immediately and changed without showering, pulling the two vials out from where he had hid them—in the pocket of his new winter cloak. They were still there.

_So it wasn't a dream. _Harry thought, almost bitterly, holding the heavy vials in his hand.

Forgetting breakfast, he summoned a house-elf.

"Is there a potions lab here?" Harry asked before the scrawny thing could bow or grovel at him.

"Er, yes sir, Harry Potter, sir. There is one…"

"Take me there."

"Er…that is being Master Draco's very _private_ potions lab, sir…"

"Either you can take me there or I can turn this Manor upside down looking for it."

X

Harry coughed at the thick air in the underground room. The room was rather small, but extremely tall, spanning two floors, Harry guessed. There were window along the top of the room, but the floor of the room was deep underground. He wondered if this used to be a dungeon. He wondered why potion labs always seemed to be in dungeons.

Only once he was amidst all of Draco's potion gadgets did Harry realize he had no idea what he was looking for. It didn't look like much had been used very recently, though, which would work to his advantage. Of course with Draco gone for school, most of the items in the room had acquired a thin layer of dust from lack of use. Harry began to seek out dust-less items.

There were two small metal vats, and Harry recognized the black potion from his vial in the first. The second, he had to assume, was the leftovers from the cleaner vial. But what were they?

Harry began to spy the bookcase overflowing with potions textbooks. They all looked equally old, and the bookcase had saved them from more noticeable dust deposits. He couldn't flip through them all, he didn't even know what he was looking for.

Harry spanned the room, looking to see if anything had been left out. It all seemed very tidy—but of course this was Draco's potion lab, after all. The boy was an absolute neat freak.

Sighing with annoyance, Harry grabbed the first book off the shelf and began flipping through it for anything that looked like it would have the effect he had witnessed yesterday.

XXX

Draco had woken up feeling groggy and miserable. His ribs hurt. His face felt raw and stiff. His eyes were sore and gluey. Only when wiping them open did he remember, through a filmy haze, what had happened last night to produce these aches.

He covered his face with his hands and groaned softly.

_You have got to be kidding me!_

It couldn't be true. He couldn't have _cried_ in front of Harry. Not even just _cried_. _Sobbed_. Completely _broken down_.

He glanced over at the black-haired boy, and his surprise momentarily surpassed his horror.

Harry was sleeping on his side, with his back to Draco.

Harry _never_ slept with his back to Draco.

_I must have really creeped him out by crying like that._

Draco sat there for another moment or so, warring with himself.

He should get up, get out of bed, get dressed and all the rest. But on the other hand all he wanted was to be coddled through his achiness.

In the end he compromised. He lay back down and molded himself to the curve of Harry's body, burying his head for the duration of a few more slow, sleepy breaths against Harry's back. Another odd thing was that Harry was wearing clothing.

While the brunette had tried very bravely to wear pajamas their first night here, he had found it futile as Draco discovered interesting ways to divest him of clothing in the night. Yet here he was with a T-shirt and Draco hadn't mauled it off him.

Draco wrapped his arms around Harry's waist underneath the clothing and stayed there for a few restful minutes before getting up grudgingly and taking a shower.

Just as he was about to leave to meet his father for breakfast, he felt himself drawn back to Harry.

He sat on the edge of the bed silently and petted crazy black locks away from Harry's face so he could kiss the boy's temple softly.

"Poor sleepy baby," Draco whispered, and rested his head on Harry's shoulder for a moment before leaving. "I'll be good to you tonight, Harry. Promise."

X

"Harry," Blaise said quietly over a weathered black book. Harry jerked up from his own flipping.

Harry had decided that the search was going much too slowly at the same moment that Blaise had owled asking if he wanted to hang out. He had immediately roped the boy into helping him search. Of course this had meant explaining to the boy what he was looking for. Which meant explaining to him Draco's actions of yesterday.

"Can you think of anything that would make him act like that?" Harry had questioned hopefully.

Blaise bit his lip thoughtfully, and Harry thought that the boy was very sweet-looking when he unconsciously did little things like this: biting his lip, fingering the meeting of his collarbones, picking at the ends of his curls.

"It must be some sort of mood altering charm. But I have to say, Harry, that something that could do what you're describing…it doesn't sound very…_light_." Blaise had replied fretfully.

This was clearly in Harry's mind when Blaise passed him the heavy book with yellowed paper and ancient handwriting.

There was a red silk bookmark on the beginning of a chapter marked The Problem, and there was a potion written out below.

"This must be what he used to…well, you know. Does that mean it wasn't a one time thing? Will he _always_ need this potion?" Harry was mulling over to himself.

"Harry, look at the page before it." Blaise said softly.

There was a small hand-drawn picture of a man standing stoically with his arms crossed as a woman threw herself at his feet, writhing his ecstasy and clawing depravedly at his legs.

Harry flipped back another page to see the potion, noting the color the potion should turn out to be.

"This is it." Harry said darkly, flipping back another page. Here, apparently, was the potion to turn him into that writhing, clawing girl. Did Draco think he didn't need it to drive Harry to those lengths of desperation? "There's no title."

"It's, um, on the first page." Blaise murmured, and his hesitancy made Harry nervous.

"Do I not want to know?"

"Maybe he didn't know, Harry. Or…maybe…having a Problem like that, it can make you do crazy things, I'm sure."

Harry read the title and slammed the book shut, fuming.

"Harry…maybe he…" Blaise said softly.

"No, he knew. It's his book, how could he not know? _God_!"

"I'm sure he didn't mean to…"

"The only thing he didn't mean was for me to find out about it. He's supposed to be over all of this! I thought that…when he wanted to be serious that he was over it all…God, I'm so _stupid_."

"Harry, you're not stupid. This is just a setback. Come on, you two are Harry and Draco! You can't let a…little thing like this get in the way of that—you two are good for each other, even if it's….not obvious right now…"

"He used a Dark potion on himself to practically rape me, Blaise. I'd say that that isn't a _'little thing'_."

Blaise recoiled slightly and started running his teeth over his lower lip again.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Blaise. I didn't mean to be short with you."

"I'm not taking Draco's side, Harry. I'm not. What he did to you was terrible. I'm just saying that…maybe something went wrong? Maybe he didn't know that the potion would make him do that to you. I'm just saying that you should get his side of it, too, before you get too angry."

"If he's honest with me. And getting honesty out of Draco has always been like pulling teeth out of a dragon."

"Well, if there's anyone who can do it, it's you." Blaise said softly. Harry, in fact, thought that his voice was too soft, almost reverent. But when he looked over, the brunette had lowered his head, ducking his face away from Harry's view.

Harry sighed, shaking it from his mind. He must be imagining things.

He shut the book carelessly and tossed it back onto the bookshelf as they left the room, not noticing that the rickety binding had been knocked back open to reveal the title page.

_Sex for The Syde of Darck. _Slowly faded away as the spell's caster moved out of range.

XXXXX

A/N: Dammmn that Blaise is a bitch! I don't know. _That's_ how I feel about _that_. Um, so, Draco wasn't a complete prick in this chapter, did you notice? I do nice things like this for _you_. So do nice things for me and review! Review like your lives depend on it!


	24. Apologize

"Who else are we meeting with today?" Draco questioned, trying to sound casual. He sat back in the carriage, away from the window in order to keep the surprising sunlight out of his eyes. Malfoys Don't Squint.

"I thought we'd cut our meetings short today, actually. Your mother thinks you should spend more time with that boy of yours, and…well…I'm disinclined to upset your mother at present." Lucius replied vaguely. Draco smiled. Looked like his mother was using her most effective form of showing her displeasure: forced celibacy.

_Good, _he thought contentedly to himself. Whatever got him back to Harry early was a good thing.

He didn't know if it was the leftover from that horrid potion yesterday, but his very skin seemed to miss the brunette. In the silence of the carriage he closed his eyes and imagined comforting things: the rasp of Harry's black locks over his cheek when they lie together in bed, the intense heat the boy's body seemed to exude magnanimously. His hand moved unconsciously to his chest, pressing the small ring of gold and silver into his skin.

When he had woken up that morning there was a rope design imprinted into his skin where the ring must have lay through the night, pressed between his body and the bed. He had wished that it would stay there forever—he would never consider it a mar on his perfect, unmarked skin.

He tried to brainstorm nice things to do for the boy to make up for that terrifyingly embarrassing crying jag from last night. The brunette hated emotional things like that—anything melodramatic or pitiful. Vulnerable the Gryffindor could handle; pitiful grated on his Slytherin side.

Draco would make the boy dinner, or some culinary thing, as he knew Harry melted for anything hand-made for him; but Draco was _horrible_ at cooking. He was as likely to poison Harry as he was to feed him what with his cooking skills.

"How can you be so good at potions and so bad at cooking?" Harry had asked in awe, looking over Draco's first attempt at making cookies: twelve charred-black lumps of ash on a cookie sheet.

"How can you be so good at cooking and so bad at potions?" Draco had retorted, and thrown the whole batch, metal sheet and all, into the trash.

Draco was still amazed that Harry had gotten the Hogwarts house-elves to allow them to cook for themselves. How come he was the one always able to garner favors? That was Draco's job as a Malfoy, but Harry seemed to outshine him in that aspect, looking back now. Another aspect to add to his collection.

All too soon into his reveries, they were at the Manor.

Narcissa was in the gardens, trimming roses, and she waved to them as they walked to the house.

"Go talk to your mother and tell her how nice I am for bringing you back early," Lucius suggested eagerly, nudging Draco in her direction.

"Okay, okay, calm down! She can't keep you celibate forever, you know."

"She only has to hold out a few months. I won't last forever." Lucius explained nervously.

Draco wondered if sex being an integral part of living was a trait unique to Malfoys, or if everyone was this way.

_It must be just Malfoys, otherwise Longbottom would have died off long ago._

"Hello, Mum. My how nice Father is for letting me come home early to spend time with that boy of mine!" Draco exclaimed, approaching his mother as she placed some roses into her basket.

"Oh that's his ploy, is it? What does he take me for, a Hufflepuff? Punishment is punishment, and I'm not letting up until he's learned his lesson."

"What's the lesson of the day?" Draco questioned, picking a blood-red rose from its bush and running his fingers delicately over its thorns.

"I don't know. But I'll know once he's learned it, I'm sure."

"Well, here's to a healthy marriage!" Draco laughed, saluting her happily with his rose. Narcissa only smirked and Draco looked around at their grounds, pristinely kept and shimmering in the sunlight that created the strange effect of cold air but warming rays. "Is Harry around? He didn't go for a walk or anything, did he?" Harry was notoriously out-doorsy so long as the weather was nice. Draco thought this was a left over from the Dursleys, seeing as how their indoors were so miserable Harry had gotten into the habit of staying outdoors when he could.

"Nope. In your room. Actually, I asked him to help me in the garden and he did, for a while, but then said that he had some letters to write. He seemed very distressed."

"Hm. I'll look into it." Draco murmured. It was probably because of last night. He was most likely writing Hermoine to figure out what charm or hex could have made Draco break down into sobs at the slightest instigation.

Draco cringed at the thought, but refused to let Harry's curious actions distract him from his mission to be happy and loving.

X

"Hey, babe," Draco said joyfully, finding Harry in his room, writing at the desk. He went over to him, feeling as if he were bounding rather than walking, and proffered his rose.

Harry made no move to take it.

More confused than hurt, Draco set the rose down on the desk. He felt less worried when Harry slowly put his hand lightly over its long stem. The blonde, immediately happy again, went to the mirror, fixing his clothes after spending so long traveling.

"You said you were going to spend today with me." Harry said flatly. He didn't sound reproachful, or emotional at all; he said it as plainly as he would say, "Your collar's up in the back." He sounded as if he had known from the beginning that it was a promise Draco wouldn't be keeping.

Draco stopped, thinking, looking back to Harry, but the brunette hadn't moved.

"What? I did n—" Draco remembered foggily talking about something regarding breakfast and a stroll, but he had been hopped up on romanticism from the effects of that potion. "—oh, I didn't mean that."

"It was the potion talking?" Harry asked quietly, standing as if it were painful.

Draco caught himself in time, and said, barely missing a beat, "What potion?"

There was a crash of glass on the floor at his feet that jolted him out of his skin, but that murderous look of Harry's kept him firmly in his place. It was his missing vials.

"_Fuck you_. I don't care what you do to other people, but you don't you _dare_ lie to _me_!" Harry snarled, suddenly very close at hand.

"I don't think you should be talked to me like this!" Draco said stoutly, trying to turn this around.

"Well I don't think you should be _treating_ me like this!" Harry shouted back, daring Draco to argue with him.

Draco's mouth popped open with a heartfelt and maybe slightly weepy apology on his tongue, when he suddenly recalled the rule: Malfoys Don't Apologize. His mouth snapped shut again and he thought quickly how to get himself out of this situation.

"I can see that you're angry, and that was a very bad thing for me to do," he said, trying to sound demure so that Harry wouldn't notice his lack of actual apology.

Instead a look passed over Harry's, a horrible light to his eyes, and for once Draco thought that Harry might just hit him.

But the boy turned violently, with an angry toss of his head, and snatched up his cloak.

"Where are you going?" Draco cried.

"For a walk. If I look at you any longer I'm going to be sick." Harry said, and Draco could hear the restraint in his voice that showed how hard he was working to not murder Draco.

Draco realized as he collapsed to sit at the desk that he was shaking.

He didn't think he had ever seen Harry this angry before. And, considering their past, that was really something. He folded his body so that his head was resting on his knees.

XXX

Draco skipped dinner. He couldn't eat. And Harry still wasn't back yet. He had seen the boy return to the Manor a few hours earlier, but Harry had made no move to approach him, and, knowing that Harry needed his space when he was this temperamental, Draco waited impatiently in his room.

He had been trying to plan out what he was going to say, but it was very hard to think. He knew that he had to apologize, but how could he when those words rankled his Malfoy pride; were clearly off-limits? How had he managed it back in April, when he was pulling just as stupid stunts which required just as off-limits apologies? He was wracking his brain, but nothing, no "I'm sorries" were coming up. Harry had always just seemed to understand when he was sorry. Then, later, the words had just seemed to spring from him; there was never any sense of betrayal of his family rules, or wounding of his pride.

It had actually been very anti-climactic.

They had been lying in the sunlight in a secluded area past the lake in a bright clearing near the woods, enjoying a bit of…_exercise_. Afterwards, Draco had leaned across Harry's lethargic body to grab his school tie, and his hand slipped on the smooth grass, dropping him unceremoniously onto Harry's vulnerable stomach, eliciting an "Oomph!" from Harry and an "Oh! I'm sorry!" from Draco.

They had stared at each other for a surprised second, and then Harry had laughed, forcing Draco to join him. From then on it had never been a problem.

But now, with the full brunt of Malfoyness to live up to so close at hand, what was Draco to do?

He couldn't go in there with the same fake-apology he had given the brunette before—the boy would murder him.

A rebellious voice snarled up inside of him, asking, "What the fuck am I even apologizing for? So I used a sex potion, who cares? I didn't hear him complaining at the time."

Then Draco started, jerking upright from his tense position on the couch.

He struggled to remember what had happened, exactly, through his hazy memory. Harry had seemed very eager at first—he remembered that much. Then the potion took over, and his memory was seen as though through a foggy filter. Had he not prepped Harry? Was that why the boy was so angry with him? No, Harry had prepped himself, that was right, he remembered now. Then had gotten started, and…and what?

Draco's eyebrows jumped suddenly. "Agh! Draco! You're hurting me!" floated through his brain as if he were listening to it from underwater.

And had that changed his attitude at the time? Harry hadn't even come, he realized, heartbeat galloping in his ears. Whatever Draco had done to make Harry say that, he must have continued doing if Harry didn't come.

That stupid potion had made him completely unfeeling—it destroyed that purely emotional aspect of sex that made it more than two animals pushing and shoving at each other.

He hadn't felt anything towards Harry in those moments or minutes.

Draco suddenly ran for the door upon his realization, murderously set on finding Harry and groveling until his voice ran out.

He had fucked the boy without loving him at all—and Draco knew as well as felt that this was the most horrible act he had ever committed.

"Mepsy! Trinley! Anyone!" Draco hissed impatiently, stopping at the fork between the East Wing and the West Wing.

Both house-elves appeared at once.

"Where's Harry!" Draco asked before either one of them could bow or tell him how happy they were to be of service. He was running before their answers were even complete.

Only to find himself frozen in front of the door once he arrived, panting harshly from his panicked sprint.

The door was pure white, and he stared at it avidly, and at its gold doorknob clutched in his hand.

He squeezed his eyes shut, praying that Harry was in fact behind this door, praying that he hadn't destroyed everything he had taken such care to build up between he and Harry, clutching his hand to where his ring hung around his neck as if to a crucifix.

_Please let him be Gryffindor enough to forgive me! _he thought, and pushed the door open.

He tortured himself by slowly moving his eyes along the sun-bleached wooden floor boards, to the only piece of furniture in the room: an ivory bed, to the scruffy figure lying there tensely, reading (or rather, glaring at) _Quidditch Through The Ages_.

It seemed to take ages before Draco could gather up enough energy to move his body to the bed, and his legs got him there jerkily, timidly bringing him onto the bed to kneel near Harry's feet, in what was hopefully out of hitting range.

Harry made no move to recognize his presence, but the boy was too tense to pull it off: his jaw was clenched, and his glare was liable to burn a hole through his book at any moment.

Never before had Draco felt pleading to be so futile as in the face of this closed off being.

"Are we going to break up?" he heard himself whisper, and saw a tremor go through Harry's mouth.

The brunette sighed and set his book down, replacing Draco in his glare.

"I'm not going to break up with you, Draco." Harry said sternly. Draco waited for the 'But,' but none came.

"_Why not_? I'm only the most evil person ever born. I only practically raped you." Draco replied, voice faltering. He willed himself not to cry, biting the inside of his cheeks painfully and clenching his fists in his lap.

"You didn't rape me. I had the safe word. I had my wand. I'm strong enough to fight you off. I chose not to stop you."

"Why?"

Harry's lips tightened. "I'll admit, it wasn't exactly enjoyable. But it wasn't terrible, either."

"_I hurt you_."

"You didn't hurt me that much. Truth is, you're a pretty crummy top at the best of times, so there wasn't really that much of a difference. It's just that normally you're a bit more engaging. Playful, maybe. What you lack in skills you make up for in…I don't know. Loving me, I guess."

"I do love you, Harry. I love you so much. And…I did take a potion. And that's the reason I acted like that. And I'll never take it again! I never want to hurt you like that again." Draco exclaimed, shuddering, moving closer to clutch Harry's hand.

"I know about the potion. What I don't know is why you took it. _Either_ of them. Did you think you had to prove something to me? Trust me, I know how virile you are."

"At first I…I wanted…when I left you at the barn…and later, when I was thinking about it, I knew you'd think it was because of you. It wasn't, Harry! It's me. There's something wrong with me. I wanted…to show you that it wasn't because of you—that I _did_ want you."

"Draco, I _know_ you want me. You don't have to prove that to me." Harry said, but Draco gave him a scathing look that made him blush. "Well…I…I guess if you're being honest, I should be, too. I did think it was because of me…but not that you didn't want me. Just that…I know that I'm not very attractive. Not like you. I thought maybe it was because of that."

"That's what I was trying to show you! You _are_ attractive, Harry. God, you're so bloody gorgeous!" Draco swore as if these words were torn from his breast, and he dropped his head passionately onto Harry's stomach.

Harry didn't reply, and Draco knew that, while Harry didn't think he was lying, he at least thought Draco was biased.

"But after I took that other potion," Draco continued miserably, "it was like I couldn't think about you at all. I couldn't think about showing you how much I loved you, or even making it semi-pleasurable for you! God, even if I'm a bad top, I'm never _that_ bad!"

"No, thank God you're not!" Harry laughed, and Draco sat up, loving that laugh.

Harry stilled looking at him pleasantly, lovingly even, and after everything Draco had done to him! Not even just yesterday, but the day before and the day before that! It had been days since he was properly decent to Harry. Yet it was so obvious that the boy still loved him the same, still wanted him.

Draco realized that, through all the fights and the Blaises of society and everything else, Harry was the one steady thing in the world. Harry would always want him, Harry would always be there for him.

He scooted closer still, and raised his hand to stroke Harry's cheek.

"I'd do anything for you, Harry," he whispered, and he meant it, despite it going against every Slytherin ideal he held.

"I don't need for you to do everything for me. I just need for you to not treat me like shit." Harry replied softly. Draco dropped down next to the brunette, taking him tightly in his arms.

"Let's go someplace. Let's get away from here. We could—we could stay at a chalet in Switzerland, or go to New York! Let's just leave—please!" Draco cried desperately.

Harry pulled back, looking carefully into wet gray eyes, stroking back white strands of hair.

"What's wrong?" he asked, frightened for the boy, frightened for the resigned terror in the pale eyes.

Draco made a sound that could have been a laugh or could have been a sob, and pulled Harry closer.

"I don't want to lose you," he whispered.

"I'm not going anywhere, Draco. I'm right here." Harry sighed, stroking Draco's skin comfortingly.

"I know. I don't know what's wrong with me. Just ignore me." Draco sighed, scrubbing at his eyes.

Draco wasn't sure how long they lie there. He felt too alive and loved to be sleepy, so he ran his fingers over the ridges of Harry's body, committing them to memory, the memory of his hands. He closed his eyes and smiled as his hands remembered past romps with Harry—how it felt to clutch those roiling muscles, working hard over him, when they would all suddenly clench and Draco would feel himself filled with that agonizingly pleasurable heat.

He realized that Harry's hand was resting on the small of his back, and his body was overcome with the urge to squirm that hand down another notch.

"Oh!" Draco gasped suddenly, eyes popping open.

"Oh?" Harry questioned, opening one eye.

"_Oh_." Draco repeated in as suggestive a voice as he could muster, pushing his new addition into Harry.

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed, and moved his body over Draco's, pushing the slim wrists into the pearly white comforter, adding strength to the blonde's growing erection and setting his blood on fire.

"Ah," Draco complained when Harry pulled off to kneel over him, keeping him firmly pinned only by his wrists. His objections were muffled by Harry's lips as the brunette plundered his mouth.

"Do you want me to show you how much I want you?" Harry questioned in that predatory voice that went straight to Draco's hips and forced them to thrust upwards as they struggled to come into contact with their tormentor.

"Oh, yes, yes!" Draco gasped, tossing his head back tempestuously.

Harry slowly slid his body downwards, pressing against Draco first at the calves, then the knees, then, finally, the hips, grinding down and making Draco's entire body jerk with pleasure, forcing a long moan from that swan-like throat which he was soon to mark grievously.

Draco's wrist pulled in vain against Harry's grip, but the blonde adored it. It was so much better than being tied up, feeling Harry's strength carrying out Harry's will and frustrating his own. Although the blonde was notorious for always wanting his way, Harry had effectively trained him in the pleasures of frustration.

Just as Harry's descended to lay claim to Draco's alabaster throat, approaching voices could be heard.

"Oh, I probably should have mentioned this, but this is my parent's bedroom." Draco explained in a rushed, panicked voice.

"WHAT?!" Harry nearly shouted, jumping clear to the floor and sprinting after Draco as the blonde scrambled through a door and into a closet the size of Draco's parlor.

"Back here!" Draco hissed, and the boys climbed through a jungle of dresses, pressing against the wall, on top of a shelf of expensive shoes.

"We left the door open!" Harry gasped, moving as if to shut it.

"Stay here!" Draco hissed, pushing Harry back against the wall and re-shielding the boy with a layer of dresses on their plush hangers.

Just then the door to the bedroom opened and Narcissa entered, followed quickly by Lucius.

"Let's Apparate!" Harry whispered.

"We can't—my parent's charmed the bedroom against Apparition—so they wouldn't be…_disturbed_."

"Ew!"

"Shh!"

Harry was completely silent, and could hear Lucius saying, "Oh come on! I've been really good! I deserve this!"

"You deserve something, all right!" Narcissa growled back. "I suppose you're under the deluded impression that I didn't see Harry storm out of here in a huff earlier today, eh? Don't think that I don't know you had something to do with it, too, you slimey little worm!"

Wow. Good argument. Harry wished that he had some Extendable Ears right about now. He brushed off Draco who was sliding his hand up Harry's arm.

"Stop it—I want to hear if you get any of your arguing techniques from your parents." Harry hissed, pushing Draco's tenacious appendage away more forcefully.

"Stop what?" Draco whispered. Harry look at Draco. They both looked down to Harry's arm where a dress sleeve was working its way up his forearm.

"Oh no! My mum's self-dressing dresses! We must have activated them shoving our way through here!" Draco cried, struggling to keep his voice low as he kicked a dress away from winding up his legs.

"Make them stop!"

"I don't know how! I've never used one before!"

"Agh! It's got me! Get it off! Get it off!" Harry hissed in a high-pitched whisper of panic, now trying to shake the dress from his body.

"Agh! Help!" Draco cried, tripping over the pencil-thin dress and crashing to the floor, dragging Harry along with him.

"Ouch!" Harry yelped as his dress synched unbearably around a waist that was supposed to be much smaller.

"Ow, owow!" Draco rasped as his dress zipped up all the way up his neck, cutting off his breathing.

"What on Earth are you boys doing?" Narcissa cried, walking into her closet to see Draco in her opal pencil dress and Harry in her sea-blue sequin gown.

"Oh God!" Lucius shrieked, and, clutching his heart, fell backwards until he hit the bed.

"Are you boys…_experimenting_?" Narcissa asked in disbelief.

"No!" Harry exclaimed, pulling the dress away from Draco's throat so he could breathe.

"Your dresses attacked us!" Draco gasped.

"What were you two even doing in here?" Narcissa questioned at the same time that Lucius asked, "Hey, who's book is this on my bed?"

"Um…Harry was reading me a bedtime story." Draco spat out. Even he didn't think it was anywhere near believable.

"In our bed?" Lucius questioned, coming up, book in hand. "And who reads _Quidditch Through the Ages_ as a bed-time story?"

Narcissa gave her son a sinister look. This look clearly said, "Because you are lying to me, I'm going to make you suffer."

"Oh, darling, if you wanted Mummy to read you a bed-time story, you only had to ask! I know it's been only _five years_ since I last read you a bed-time story, but it's no problem at all!" Narcissa said generously.

Harry couldn't help but smile, but at least he had managed to not laugh outright.

"That's really okay, Mum!" Draco grit out, face red from more than just hampered circulation.

"Oh it's no problem at _all_ dear! You just go get your MopMop—you remember that adorable stuffed dragon you wouldn't go anywhere without until you were _eight_? Well, just go get him, and pull on your green feetie pajamas and grab your blankie and come lie down with Mummy and we can read The Lonely Little Bunny, okay?"

Harry couldn't hold it in any more. He burst out laughing.

X

"You better hope this salve gets rid of the shiner you gave me," Harry grumbled as he got into bed a while later, prodding his black eye gently.

"It's not _my_ fault. How am I supposed to prevent you from not paying attention and sitting up into my elbow?" Draco said haughtily, combing his hair before coming to bed.

Harry murmured Nox, his voice evidence enough that he didn't completely believe Draco, but was giving him the benefit of the doubt (as he _always_ did).

"Are you going to be able to get to sleep okay, or should I go get MopMop? Ow! That's my bruised eye! Ow, stop it!"

XXXXX

A/N: There you go you, whiners (j/k!). Semi-light-hearted, semi-fluffy, semi-not-miserable. I hope this chapter cheers your spirits at least slightly. If it does, review! If it doesn't…review anyway!


	25. suckkkk

A/N: I'm warning you right now, this chapter sucks. You might as well just skip it. I doubt you'll miss anything. Come back next chapter. I'll make it better worth your while...maybe...

"How huge are your grounds, exactly?" Harry asked. They had been walking for nearly an hour now, and, perhaps due to their slow pace, they hadn't yet gotten halfway around the perimeter of the grounds.

"Pretty huge." Draco admitted, slinking his hand into Harry's mitten to press against the boy's palm. "Which will come in handy, you know, what with the hundreds of children we'll have."

"Got enough rooms in the Manor for our hundred children?"

"We could add another wing." Draco laughed. But he had got Harry thinking.

"Do you actually want kids?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. Instead his question made Draco's mouth pop open with embarrassment.

"I—well, don't you?"

"Of course."

"Oh, well, then," Draco sighed with relief, smiling again. "Yeah. I do too. I thought you did, but I've never really asked you."

"Well, I don't know about a hundred, but I'd like at least one."

"At least? You want more than one?"

"Well…yeah, don't you?"

"Why would I need more than one? Besides, who would inherit the Manor if we had more than one?" Harry hadn't actually thought of any of his children inheriting a Dark Manor, but he thought this perhaps wasn't the best thing to say to Draco.

"It's not how many kids you _need_, it's how many you want. I think it'd be lonely for just one kid."

"How would you know? I survived just fine. Plus, there are plenty of things to keep a child entertained in the Manor." Draco had that haughty voice again, and he pulled his hand loose of Harry's.

Harry got an odd sensation in his spine. Like a thought was crawling slowly from vertebrae to vertebrae and would soon reach his mind.

"The Manor? What…to visit your parents?"

Draco stopped his leisurely stroll, looking at Harry with as much confusion as Harry was showing him.

"Visit? Why would they visit their…Where…where were you expecting us to live?"

"I…I hadn't planned it out down to a specific place yet, but not _here_!" Harry exclaiming, motioning up to the overdone parapets of the Manor, the haughty gargoyles and the thinly-clad stone angels, the manicured hedges and the sparkling windows.

"What, exactly, is wrong with _here_?" Draco growled angrily. The thought finally reached Harry's brain, and it left him rather numbed. It was Blaise; Blaise saying that most pureblood children lived with their parents after school.

"Nothing, nothing, of course, it's beautiful. It's just…you really _want_ to live here? To raise our children here?" Harry asked dully. He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't believe that he and Draco had a misunderstanding like this between them.

"It's home." Draco said, and Harry knew that he had meant to sound stern, but the voice came out sounding sad and not a little bit scared.

"But…it's your _parent's_ home. Growing up is about finding your _own_ home, a home to start your _own_ family in. Not a hand-me-down home." As soon as he said it, Harry realized why he really didn't want to raise his children in the Manor; it had nothing to do with the Darkness or Lucius Malfoy or the building's pomp and glamour. He didn't want another hand-me-down.

"Every Malfoy since its completion has lived in this Manor! What do you want me to do—ignore all tradition? For what? So we can live in some swank London bachelor pad?"

"_What_?"

"That's what you want, isn't it? You and Ron, sharing a pad, going off to Auror training together? Leaving me alone in that tiny hovel?"

"Of course not, Draco! God—we'd be married! I don't want Ron around…interrupting things. Maybe, yeah, that's what I wanted, before you came along…"

"Well don't let me stand in your way!" Draco snarled. "By all means—take up with that little Weasel! I'll have plenty to do myself! I don't even know why we're talking about it! I won't even _be_ in England!"

"What are you talking about, not being in England? Where would you be if you weren't in England?" Harry questioned, blood feeling chilled.

"In Africa, that's where!" And Harry burst out laughing. He clapped his hands over his mouth to stop himself, but it was too late. He watched in horror as Draco's eyes practically caught on fire with anger.

"What, exactly is so funny?" he asked in a dangerous voice.

"Nothing!" Harry said promptly. "I…at a hotel? In Africa?"

"Of course not. I'm going exploring. I'll be camping, most probably, under the stars with various wizarding tribes while you're off running your arse off in Auror drills."

Harry held his hand over his mouth, unable to trust himself not to laugh.

"Draco…you _hate_ camping! You wouldn't even spend the night with me on the Quidditch pitch!"

"Well the Quidditch pitch is very near the Forest! Lord knows what lopes around the grounds at night from that Forest!"

"The same things that lope around in Africa at night!"

"You don't think I can do it!" Draco shouted angrily. Harry knew better than to goad Draco any further, but at the same time he didn't know what to say to calm the blonde down.

"Let's not talk about all this—it's all so far off. Who knows how you'll feel at the end of the school year?"

"Or _you_. It's not _me_ that's going to change my mind. I'm going to Africa and you can Auror it up all you want with that Weasel. We're living in the Manor, and we're having one male heir to inherit it all!" Draco shouted.

Harry forgot not to goad him.

"It seems to me that you'll need my consent for all this to go on!"

"I won't!" Draco hissed. He saw that this struck Harry, and so he pushed it one step further. "I don't need your permission to do anything." Then he stormed back into the Manor to rant to his father.

Harry gripped his fists and stormed off to rant to Blaise.

X

"He thinks whatever he cooks up, I'm just going to go along for the ride!" Draco shouted to his father as he paced the room.

"He thinks that he can just boss me around over anything—big or small: number of children, where we live, what we do! It's my life, too! I'm tired of being bossed around by everyone—I want to be the one to plan my own life for once!" Harry growled to Blaise, kicking his foot further into the rut he was creating on the dirt road outside Blaise's house.

"I don't see why he cares if I go to Africa or not—it's not like he'll be around to notice." Draco said glumly, dropping into the armchair in his father's study.

"And then him!" Harry continued. "_Africa_! It was bad enough him ignoring me for Malfoy Business—to ignore me for _Africa_! He doesn't even like camping—oh, but I know exactly where he got the idea from, though—that conniving father of his! Shoving these horrible thoughts into his head. He never said a single thing about living in the Manor while we were dating! Now suddenly he only plans to leave it long enough to go to _Africa_."

"If it were up to him we'd live in the Burrow for the rest of our lives, raising honorary Weasleys." Draco groaned, but then sighed noncommittally. "No. That's not true. He doesn't want another hand-me-down. Oh, I know what he means. It would be nice. Start fresh. Just us." He had forgotten he was talking to someone and not himself.

"But tradition always meant more to Draco. I always knew that. I shouldn't be surprised. Just because I have no history, nothing to tie me to a certain way of doing things. Of course he wants to live where his family has always lived. Just because I've never had a home doesn't mean he should have to leave his." Harry sighed morosely.

"You sound as if the two of you were getting married or something!" Lucius and Blaise laughed nervously.

"What?" asked Harry and Draco, jolting upright, suddenly remembering to whom they were talking.

"Of course we're not getting married! I'm only seventeen! And you'd know before I did, Father. Harry would have to ask you before he asked me." Draco laughed easily.

"How could I get married in all good conscience with a Dark Lord out for me and anyone around me? I can't marry anyone until Voldemort's out of the way. That's one guest I don't need dropping in at the nuptials." Harry laughed.

"Ugh," said Blaise. "Let's not talk about Dark Lords. Or any of this. So Draco's being a bit bossy—well, that's not new, is it? I'm more surprised that you only just now realized that he's bossy! Oh let's change the subject from all this negativity—all it'll do it make you more upset, you know. How about we talk about studies? There's a subject that you certainly seemed to enjoy last time it got brought up. Have you seen Mr. Malfoy's study? It's quite exceptional."

"I don't think I'd enjoy it. Who knows what evil shit's gone down in there? It gives me the creeps just thinking about it." Harry sighed, leaving his dirt rut to sit next to Blaise on the marble stoop.

"Oh, it's not that bad. I can't testify as to what's gone on in there, but on the outside, at least, it's very beautiful." Blaise said, putting his icy white hands into Harry's cloak pocket for warmth, accidentally brushing against Harry's lap. "When Draco and I were young it was strictly off limits, but we'd still sneak in every now and then when Lucius was away on business. Oh, I remember it had the most gorgeous green, wing-backed chair, with this matching ottoman. It seemed gigantic when I was younger but—Harry? Harry, what's wrong? Was it something I said?"

Harry was gripping his hands together to whiteness as if to prevent himself from going for his wand. His face was pale except for two angry splotches of red on his cheeks, his teeth grit tightly.

"Are you okay?" Blaise asked softly. As calm as he normally was in these sorts of situations, Harry was actually scaring him with these antics.

"Harry?" Blaise whispered, and moved his hands inside the pocket, touching Harry's stomach.

There was an ear-splitting _CRACK_! as if a bolt of lightning had found a tree to split in half, and Blaise was pitched forwards into Harry's lap. The marble underneath him had split in two.

X

"Are you sure you want to be doing this, Harry? I can't imagine that Draco will appreciate it." Blaise said nervously.

"The whole point of a Howler is that the recipient _not_ appreciate it, Blaise." Harry growled, stabbing his quill into the paper.

"But if he's around his father…"

"Good! I hope he is!"

And Harry's famous luck did him well in this instance as well—Draco was just sitting down to tea with his father and their overseer from India when the vermillion envelope landed with an antagonistic thump on his saucer, which was luckily momentarily devoid of a teacup.

All three men stared at it dumbly for a moment. Lucius was the first to react.

"Quick! Take it outside before it explodes! It's always worse when it explodes!" Lucius cried knowingly, as a man who has received many a Howler.

Draco snatched the envelope and sprinted for the front door, but only made it as far as the entrance hall before the Howler burnt its way out of his hand.

He managed to slam his hands over his ears before the envelope exploded open to reveal Harry's voice, mutated beyond anger, into the kind of blind rage that it seemed only Harry could properly produce.

"_YOUR FATHER'S STUDY—ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME??!! I WON'T EVEN DO IT IN HIS STABLES AND YOU TRICK ME INTO AN ACT LIKE THAT IN HIS FUCKING STUDY?! HAVE YOU GONE COMPLETELY INSANE—OR ARE YOU JUST THAT FUCKED UP?! I CAN'T SEEM TO TRUST YOUR CONSCIENCE TO KEEP YOU IN LINE, SO I GUESS I'M GOING TO HAVE TO TRUST YOUR SLYTHERIN PRESERVATION—I'M TAKING A PAGE OUT OF YOUR MOTHER'S BOOK: YOU ARE HEREBY CUT THE FUCK OFF!"_

Draco stayed put for a couple of seconds after the letter ignited, its echo reverberating off the walls. He was fully aware of his mother at the top of the stairs. He knew full well that his father would be putting on a poker face for the Indian man, offering him a refill on his tea, and the Indian would politely nod as if he hadn't just heard what he had just heard.

"Go Boy Wonder for getting a backbone. I was wondering for how long he was going to let you walk all over him." Narcissa said.

Draco gripped his wand in his pocket.

"I'm going to murder him!" Draco growled.

"Come with me, first." Narcissa said, and went to lead Draco into her tea parlor.

Draco's limbs moved stiffly with fury, letting her move him where she would.

"Tough luck, that sex embargo." Narcissa sighed, pouring Draco a cup of tea.

"I'm going to murder him!"

"Why?" Narcissa questioned innocently, quirking her head to the side.

"Are you kidding? Did you not just hear that?!" Draco growled. He vaguely realized that his tea was boiling in its cup.

"Oh, I heard it. But why are you surprised? You did trick him, didn't you? He said that he wouldn't have sex with you in his father's house and you blew him in your father's study?"

Draco's draw dropped.

"How did you--?!"

"Honey, I know how these things go. I wasn't always a mother. I was young once, too. And don't think that your father and I didn't try all the little ploys you and Harry are trying. I recognize a stroll to the neighbor's barn for what it is. And sudden disappearances in the middle of the night—hiding out in parent's closets."

"So I tricked him. It's a ridiculous notion, anyway. Not having sex just because we're at the Manor!"

"If he thought it was ridiculous for you to turn him down when you were exhausted from a long day at work, would you forgive him for raping you?"

Draco practically dropped his teacup.

"Who's saying anything about rape?" he asked tensely.

"It's just a hypothetical situation."

"Well, then…no, of course I wouldn't forgive him…right away. But that's my…I mean, I…"

"That's when _you_ want it? The same rule can't only apply to only one of you, Draco."

"I know that," Draco meant to snap it, but it came out sulky.

"I think your father has been putting strange ideas in your head about marriage, about Malfoy rules and regulations. I mean, my God, do you think he and I would still be married if he abided by every one of those stupid Malfoy rules? They were written for women like your grandmother—not for people like me and Harry. We weren't meant to be bossed around and ill-used."

"I'm not ill-using him!"

"I don't think that Harry would be shooting Howlers all over the place if he were _enjoying_ his treatment. I'm not blind, Draco, I know what's going on here. Do you really think your father has never apologized to me? Never taken an order or backed down from a threat? Marriage is give and take, Draco. I know when to let your father do what he will, and your father knows when to do as he's told, for the most part. If you really plan on marrying Harry, you're going to have to learn to at least give it a go."

Draco's spine turned to wood.

"Who said anything about marrying him?" he asked tightly.

His mother gave him a disparaging look. "I know what looks like the ones between the two of you mean. I used to give them—and get them. And I kept my ring in the same place, at first," she said fondly, pressing her fingertips to her collar as if touching a ghost.

"Don't tell Dad!"

"I think it would help your cause for your father to see how much Harry means to you."

"No way—he hates Harry. He thinks Harry's making me mushy." Draco said glumly.

"I don't think you're father's as evil as all that—I don't think he's capable of hating anyone who loves you as much as Harry does. But…if it did come down between the two of them…who would you choose?"

Draco felt as if his heart had stopped. This was one decision he had shoved out of his brain for nearly a year now, and he felt he had no ability to answer now, as he was even more confused about his own feeling as he had ever been before.

He loved Harry. His dad scared the shit out of him, but he loved him, too.

"Choose?" Draco croaked.

"Yes, darling, people do sometimes make decisions, you know."

Draco's brain short-circuited with a mental overload. Choose? Between his family and his lover? His brain could not compute. It was dealing with two impossibilities: living without his name and living without Harry.

"I…why can't I have both?" Draco whined.

"Well, you've been trying for both for about a week now, and you've ended up with a mouthy father and a Howler. Ask me, this 'both' thing doesn't seem to be working out for you: instead of having at least one person happy with you, you've got two pissed at you."

"Oh, it would all be fine if it weren't for that stupid Blaise! Harry would never send ma a Howler if that brat didn't put him up to it."

Narcissa gave an annoyed sigh. "Sometimes you're too much like your father. All right, I'll give it to you straight: either please your father, or please Harry—but you can't do both, not as things are right now. I'm going to leave you to ponder that, because both you and your father need a good five minutes for important facts to get through your thick skulls."

"If I had to choose?" Draco whispered to himself a few minutes later, staring out the window.

He tried to picture it. Harry and his father would get into a fist-fight, or a wizarding duel, and they would both turn on him when it came to a draw.

"Make your choice, Draco!" his father would order. "This touseled half-blood, or your own dear father!"

"Yeah," Harry would growl. "This middle-aged sack of evil, or me."

That was as far as Draco could get, though. It was impossible. He would be half a person without Harry, but he would be half a person without his family, too.

"Draco? Are you all right?" Draco jerked to the sound. His father.

"I'm okay. Just…confused I guess." Draco sighed. Lucius looked as if he momentarily wanted to press this further, but then changed his mind.

"Don't worry, son. I know just the thing to get back at Potter."

"Get back at him? For—oh, right, for the Howler. No, I don't want to get back at him for it. He's right. I tricked him. I knew he'd be angry if he found out. I did it anyway."

"Really? In my study? I thought that I felt an evil presence in there, but I thought that it was just your great-aunt Calilpso."

"No, that was me. And Harry had nothing to do with it, so please don't hate him. He wants to please you so much, Dad. He wants to please everybody. Well, and so do I lately, which I guess is what my problem is…"

"Here, I've got a bit of news that'll keep your mind off all this morbidity!"

"Hm? What?" Draco asked distractedly.

"How would you feel about going to the New Years Ball this year?"  
"_WHAT_?!" Draco asked in pure disbelief. The New Years Ball was only the biggest, most lavish annual ball ever held. When he was younger it had been impossible for him to attend. He had only been of age starting last year, and they had foregone the ball due to their public standing after that debacle in 5th year.

"You've have to get Harry up to par, but besides that, I don't see any reason why you couldn't join us.'

"Oh, Dad! I'd love to! And I promise that Harry will be on his best behavior. I'll make sure of it—you won't regret this!"

"Yes, well, I had best not. This will be your first community ball—and I'm not talking about the Hogwarts Yule Ball. This is the big times. Every press agent in the country will be attending, including foreign delegates. At these times a Malfoy must shine as the brightest and most illustrious star. We must all show our best persona to the public."

"Yes, sir, absolutely! I swear that this whole thing with Harry will be smoothed over by tomorrow in time for the ball if I have to kill the original and Polyjuice a replacement."

"Well, let's hope it doesn't come down to that. He still has to save the world, you know."

XXXXX

A/N: UGH!!! Can we just ignore that this chapter happened? I have too much homework to give you guys quality work. Plus, I must say, you guys haven't been exactly…welcoming… Anyway, before you guys tell me how much you're going to assassinate me, let me just say that I'M SORRY. I don't think there's any way for me to elaborate past that.

PS, can my characters talk any more? MY GOD! This whole chapter was basically dialogue! I know, I'm as fed up with me as you undoubtedly are. Anyway, if you want to write to say how much you hate this chapter, do please save your breath or…typed words…I know just as much as you how much it sucks. Sigh. But at least it's up now.


	26. Late Night

Draco was already in bed when Harry _finally_ got home, and only then did Draco remember that Harry was still mad at him.

He had done nothing all day but plan out the New Years Ball to the last detail; making a list of every little thing Harry would have to improve upon, practicing his small talk, and brainstorming amusing anecdotes or interesting conversation pieces.

Then Harry had stormed into the room at nearly ten at night, and it all came crashing back down to reality. Harry was pissed off with him, and would never agree to come to this ball—especially after his treatment at the last one. It wasn't even that Draco had ill-treated him at the Christmas party—it was just that he couldn't spend every moment walking Harry through every conversation; he had his own things to do and people to impress, and he couldn't be attached to Harry's hip the whole night through just because the boy was awkward and uncomfortable on his own.

Harry didn't glance at him as he entered, but moved immediately to the bathroom, undressing with violent movements.

Draco eased himself out of bed and mustered his politeness. He did know that he was in the wrong for tricking Harry, but this didn't prevent him from begrudging the boy his apology. His mother had as good as said that that Malfoy rule about apologizing was bunk, hadn't she? He used this as a salve for the wound his pride was about to receive. It was still a struggle to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but he thought that it was barely audible when he said, clearly, if demurely, "I'm sorry."

Harry didn't turn to him—glaring at his own reflection in the mirror instead as he undid the buttons of his shirt with tight, angry movements.

He didn't reply. Draco had not expected this.

"Um…Harry? Didn't you…?"

"I heard you." Harry said tersely.

Draco could feel his muscles contracting, straining to keep his anger inside. Only his mouth wasn't strong enough.

"Well—don't you have something you'd like to say?" he asked in a barely-concealed growl.

Harry gave an ugly smirk and turned to Draco as if this is what he had been waiting for.

"Like what?"

"Like maybe something in response to that very loud letter you sent me? Especially in light of my apology?" Draco grit out.

"No."

"What?!"

"_No_, I _don't_ have anything I'd like to say to you that I didn't already say in that very loud letter I sent you."

"What the fuck?!"

"Oh, don't give me that!" Harry shouted, breaking out of his calm. "You think, what? You fling out a couple of bitter words you don't even mean and everything's going to be okay?"

"What, I didn't say them the way you want? Is that it? I'm sorry! Okay? I'm fucking sorry! Is that what you want?"

"_No_!" Harry shouted. Draco jerked back at the violence in his voice. This was the sort of Harry that had always secretly terrified him at school when he goaded Harry beyond his limits. "What I want is for you to stop doing things you have to apologize for! I asked you for one thing—don't treat me like shit! And then what do I find out?! You trick me into a fucking blowjob in your father's fucking study! My God—Voldemort himself probably sat in that fucking chair—and you—" Harry couldn't even continue, his face contorted into pure rage, his body wrestling with his anger, one or the other trying prevent Harry from shaking or smacking the blonde.

"Oh, Merlin…Harry…I never…"

Harry looked up, and although he was still clearly furious the voice that came out of him made Draco want nothing more than to wrap him in his arms and never let anyone hurt him like Draco had been hurting him.

"Don't you know what this place means to me? What I expect to see around every corner—what I expect to find in every dark closet?" Harry asked softly.

"Harry," Draco whispered, and moved to touch him, but Harry shook him off.

"Oh, don't. I don't want any of it. You go to bed. I'm not tired." Harry said dully, and left before Draco could say anything further.

Draco lie in bed, but he couldn't close his eyes for more than a few moments at a time.

He knew that the Manor had played some sort of part in the Dark Lord's reign, but that seemed like so long ago to him. Of course it would be so long ago to his boyfriend. The Manor was so much more to him than just a place the Dark Lord had held meetings in. He didn't even know how extensive the Dark Lord's stays at the Manor had been—he was sure though that his mother wouldn't have let it be too long. While she had once respected some of the Dark Lord's ideals, she didn't like the way he carried them out and she didn't like _him_. Draco couldn't imagine that the Dark Lord had ever spent the night or stayed for dinner or anything like that. When Draco thought of it, it was always as if there were a magical mirror image of the Manor in an alternate universe—that was where the Dark Lord had visited, met, plotted; not here, not in _Draco's_ home.

He knew that Harry wouldn't—_couldn't_—think of it like that. Draco knew what Harry had left implicit—would this wardrobe be the one with the black robes, the Death Eater's mask? Would this corridor contain a glimpse of that dark past Draco had nearly forgotten, but Harry couldn't?

God, for all Draco knew, the Dark Lord could have plotted the Potters' murders within these same walls. Didn't that always have to be on Harry's mind? Had the Dark Lord used the same plate Harry used, the same sheets, treaded the same floors? How did Harry ever manage to think of anything else? How had he managed to have any sexual ardor at all when these rooms all held a memory of an evil that must extinguish every sense of tenderness?

And then Draco! Taking Harry to the one room the Dark Lord would have been sure to visit!

He cringed violently, throwing the blankets off him and pacing out his guilt like a cramp.

Oh, what did Harry expect him to do? Scrub the Manor free from Dark-Lord juices? Yes, it was an unfortunate episode in the Manor's history, in his family's history, but it was over now and there was no use being squeamish about it!

In response to this, a pained voice cried out inside of him.

This voice sparked him into action, and he moved silently from his room to the billiards room. In the pitch-blackness of the hallway, and after thinking of it so immediately, Draco couldn't help but feel the cold slimy memory of the Dark Lord chilling the back of his neck.

The light was still burning softly, and it illuminated the polished billiards balls, spread randomly on the table.

Harry was sprawled awkwardly on the settee, cue stick at his side on the floor. He looked as if he had fallen asleep while sitting up and had collapsed into gravity without waking. He looked as if his entire body would be very sore in the morning from sleeping like this.

Draco hadn't wanted anything but to see him—to see his solid figure and feel that welling up of adoration within himself that the sight of Harry always instilled in him.

He could weather any argument, any dispute, so long as they were alive and together. He didn't care where they lived or what they called themselves or how many children they had so long as they were alive and having them and happy. Why was it so hard to remember that? Why was it so easy for him lately to forget how much he loved Harry? How little his life meant and would mean without the boy in it?

He wished he could get that thing Harry had told him about—a tattoo, reminding himself that he loved Harry, would do anything for Harry, would give up everything for Harry. He loved his family, but Harry was his family too—and with Harry he could always create his own family, struggle to replace his old one. Did that count as a choice? He would be miserable without his parents in his life, but Harry would see him through it, and eventually he would get over it. When his son was born, when his daughter was born, when they had children—would he really be able to wallow in the misery of his lost Malfoy name when things like that were so there and so willing to replace it? Wouldn't being a Potter make him just as proud and happy as being a Malfoy did?

He didn't come to a conclusion, but sighed instead. Maybe it would come to him eventually. Maybe when he was faced with the decision he would be like Harry and rise to the occasion and make the right choice. Oh, but what could be called the right choice in a decision like that? He would just have to choose the one that made him the least miserable—and in quiet, midnight times like these, watching Harry sleep, the decision seemed doable—makeable.

Draco moved Harry's leg experimentally, and when the boy didn't react, he lifted the limb onto the settee, and then the other one, pushing Harry into a fully lying position. He arranged the boy into what appeared to be at least a more comfortable pose, and summoned a blanket—it was a thick quilt that his grandmother had spent her sparse free time furtively making away from the dogmatic eyes of his grandfather. She had given it to Narcissa to give to Draco when he was older—his grandmother had died when he was two. His mother had always wrapped him up in the quilt when he was sick or miserable and the tiny stitching, the beautiful cloth dragons and knights and unicorns had always trapped his imagination on depressed or sniffling days.

He tucked it around Harry carefully and pet the black hair back, removing Harry's glasses and hesitating slightly before kissing the motionless lips.

Draco summoned a quill and a piece of parchment and sat beside Harry, writing slowly.

When he was finally finished, he folded the note carefully into a tiny crane and pressed it flat before pulling back the quilt and slipping it into Harry's jean pocket.

It was just as he was setting the quilt back into place that he heard Harry cry out softly—half gasp, half shout. He jerked his eyes to the boy; his heart paused, unsure if it should go on. Harry's face was drawn and pale, tossing only slightly, body jerking.

Just as Draco was jolted out of inaction and moved to shake Harry awake the boy's body shuddered into an upright position, and at once Harry slapped his hand over his scar, screaming, "_NO_!"

Draco didn't think Harry was fully awake even then—the boy made a ragged, scrabbling move to fight his way from the covers, off the settee, away. Draco held the arms still, held Harry tight to his chest and murmured whatever comforting things came immediately to mind, struggling to still the brunette's frantic movements of escape.

"Oh, God, OhGod, Ohgod." Harry was moaning, both clutching at Draco and trying to push away.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's going to be okay." Draco murmured, and wondered why his voice sounded so strange. He realized he was crying, but he didn't have enough attention for that.

Instead, he lay Harry's wracked and panting form back on the settee and lie beside him, holding on as tightly as he could.

"Oh God, oh god, _Draco_." Harry groaned, and his voice sounded so melancholy, that Draco could guess as to his nightmare.

"I'm right here, Harry. I'm okay. I'm right here."

Harry gripped him back tightly, but suddenly his hands flew to Draco's throat. Draco was momentarily terrified, but Harry grabbed the ring at the end of the chain and yanked it off Draco's neck (rather painfully).

"No." Harry growled, squeezing the ring in his fist as if trying to crush it. "I'll have to do it first—I can't…then Draco will…our kids. I'll have to do it first. Do it first, then be with Draco. Not the other way around." Harry was murmuring trubidly.

Draco clenched his jaw and snatched the ring and its necklace back from Harry—seeming to wake the brunette slightly, bringing him more into consciousness with the violence of his action.

"Give that back!" Draco growled, and mended the fine chain, putting it back around his throat. "This is mine, now. You can't take it back whenever you feel like it. It's mine and we're getting married—and you're just going to have to deal with that, Dark Lord or no Dark Lord!"

Harry blinked at him tiredly and lie back without replying, stroking Draco's hair as he fell fully back into sleep.

XXXXX

A/N: Hum, hum. Well, there it is. I don't know how I feel about it. It's rather short. I'm going to try to spit another one out, but it might not be today… I do have other things to do, you know. Well…in any case, I'll try my darndest. It might be really late tonight—daylight saving time stole an hour from me today, so…

Oh, and here's Harry's dream in case you were curious. If you can't tell, his dream is set in the future.

xXx

Harry awoke in the night, his scar twingeing. He rubbed in blearily—it was the middle of the night. The sun hadn't even begun to rise—he could always see its first rays through their bedroom.

He turned to see if Draco was awake, too, but the man wasn't there.

Harry immediately knew that something was wrong, and he scrabbled to his feet, grabbing his wand off the nightstand.

His heart was automatically bursting with fear in his throat. He immediately thought of his scar aching.

_Please, no! _

He thought of the boys in their room—the older one 7, the younger one 5.

His hand shook violently on the doorknob to his and Draco's bedroom, feet shuffling on the old floorboards.

He looked to his sons' room.

The light was on—he could see its eerie pale rays from under the door—plain white except for the crayon markings where the boys had written their names.

He saw the flash of green.

He was already crying out as he shoved the door open, just in time to see the flash of green, and the younger one crumple on the bedroom floor. The older one was already there, and Draco was clutching both of their motionless bodies. The blonde had just enough time to look up at Harry before—another flash of green. The blonde slumped forward over their children.

All Harry could hear, through the buzz of his mind shut down, was Voldemort cackling.

XXX

Man! Harry has crazy!Morbid dreams! Poor little orphan!


	27. Draco vs The Glacier

Draco woke before Harry and quickly slipped out of the warm pocket of blanket he had slept in.

What time was it? He couldn't be late to meet with his father this morning of all mornings—the morning of the ball.

Damn, he still had to tell Harry about the ball. There had been absolutely no time for it last night. God—last night! Leave it to Boy Wonder to have the craziest friggen dreams. Draco himself only ever had highly practical dreams, of course. It was Malfoy tradition.

He showered and dressed at hyper-speed—there was so much to do today. He wondered if he'd have time to get Harry fitted for new robes? His every-day dress robes would be nothing to wear at the New Years Ball. God, there would be reporters at this thing; Harry couldn't look his normal ruffian self. He wondered if that hair stuff Hermoine had sent really worked—Harry's hair especially would have to be on its best behavior. He didn't want the first pictures of the two of them together with Harry's hair flying off in all directions.

Draco paused and smiled happily. He and Harry would undoubtedly have their pictures in the Prophet. It was only _The_ Boy Who Lived at his first ball with his first boyfriend. So long as the brunette managed to not spoil it by blushing, looking glum, or hiding out of the frame, it would be perfect.

X

Draco had to forego breakfast for his lateness, and was ravenous when he and his father returned from their appointments and sat down to the lunch table later in the afternoon.

Although he had spent hours following his father around on business and preparing for the ball, he didn't actually feel as though it had been that long since he had woken up to Harry's arms around him.

It was startling to remember that, despite last night, Harry was still cold with anger.

Draco, sitting across from his boyfriend and feeling the icy breeze flowing off the glacier formerly known as Harry (who, Draco had to assume, had no recollection of his warm feelings the night before), remembered this sort of anger from fourth year. At that time, though, he had been enjoying it a lot more than at present, mainly because at the time this anger was aimed at Ron, and not at himself. Draco recognized that this hole would be a lot harder to get himself out of. Hot anger he could deal with—that sort always seemed to turn into a fiery make-out session, or more. Harry's cold anger, though…that was a different Quidditch match. The most Draco could hope for was to wait until he thawed out.

He was so caught up in strategizing on how to defrost Harry, that for a moment he didn't know what his father was talking about when he said, "Nervous about tonight, Draco? I know it's your first real Ball, but really, try to gain enough calm to keep some color in your face."

"Oh, darling, don't be nervous. It's really just the same as any other Ball—maybe a few more people and more press coverage, but really, that's all. You'll do fine, both of you boys." Narcissa said.

"What are you talking about?" Harry questioned, voice lacking his normal curiosity, and acquiring an odd dullness of not really caring beyond the necessity of carrying on meager conversation.

"Why—the Ball, of…didn't…? _You didn't--?!_" Narcissa cried, turning to Draco, who wished for nothing more than to be invisible.

"_A Ball_?" Harry questioned, turning to Draco icily.

Draco could feel his breathing constrict under the amplified cold front, and had enough sense to look meek, averting Harry's eyes.

"I…er…I was going to tell you, Harry—"

"When? The ball is tonight, isn't it? _When_ were you going to tell me?"

Draco blushed at this coming from Harry—the paragon of devotedness and adoration, chiding Draco like a stupid yet dishonest child.

"Can we not talk about this now?" Draco asked through grit teeth.

"When are we going to talk about it? Because I have to tell you, lately you've been very hard to pin down. Recently your skills at disappearing have exceeded even your old turn-tail prominence."

"Excuse me," Lucius growled, but a harsh thud interrupted his tirade. Draco thought that Harry had hit the table, but he looked up to see that in reality Harry's brass goblet had concaved in on itself.

"I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to him." Harry said severely to the man, and turned back to Draco, now blushing hard. "I'm talking to _you_. I'm asking _you_—when? When were you going to tell me? When were you going to _talk_ to me?"

Draco didn't trust himself to open his mouth, and so he sat there, teeth biting back all the things not appropriate for such a public forum.

Harry sighed, but it sounded more like a snort of anger.

"I've quite lost my appetite." Harry said darkly, standing and tossing his napkin onto his plate. "When you're ready to _talk_ to me, come and _talk to me_."

Only when Harry left the room did he realize the last place on Earth he wanted to be was alone with his parents after an embarrassment like that. He shoved himself back from the table and fled the room.

He wouldn't go to Harry. He wouldn't get into a shouting match with the boy—not so soon before the Ball. He'd let the boy calm down—let them both calm down—and then he'd do his best to persuade the Gryffindor to obey him and behave himself at the most important ball of his life.

X

It was nearly dinner time before Draco worked up enough courage to take his boyfriend up on his offer.

He found Harry in the Owlry, sitting with his knees drawn up on the floor and Hedwig using his knobby knee as a perch, allowing Harry's lithe fingers to pet down her feathers, although Draco knew for a fact she hated it.

Harry had his head tilted back, exposing the sun-darkened skin of his neck, eyes closed. Draco hated it when Harry sat like that. It always made him realize how easily Harry's throat could be slit.

Harry heard his unwitting, angry exhalation of breath, and put his head on right, pursing his lips slightly like he used to back when catching sight of Draco wasn't pleasant.

Just as Draco opened his mouth to say something (he wasn't exactly sure what), Hedwig flew at him, batting her wings at his face as she flew to her perch with the other owls. Draco was happy enough that he hadn't screamed at the surprise, but felt rather silly with his arms waving manically in front of his face trying to ward of the beast that had already passed on.

When he opened his eyes Harry was moving to a stand, but it didn't block the fact that he was smiling—smiling that horrid little smirk he used to smile when he imagined Draco had gotten his comeuppance (usually times when Draco only recognized that something completely sucky had happened to him). This self-righteous little smirk was one of the things about Harry that had always made Draco want to seriously harm the boy.

"Come on. Tell me more about this _Ball_." Harry sighed darkly, and he walked ahead of the blonde out of the room.

Draco, while glad that Harry was talking to him in such resigned tones, was momentarily chilled by the fact that Harry had managed to brush past him without touching him—a feat unheard of in the past few months.

Draco found himself pushing his own lock of hair away from his face, and he did it with the full bitterness of a person not used to attending to such things when their proper caretaker was right there—and apparently shirking their boyfriendly duties.

"So you're really going to go, then?" Draco asked rather breathlessly—both with excitement and with trying to keep in pace with Harry's long-legged gait—back in his bedroom.

Harry put a quill and ink bottle back in the desk from his cloak pocket and shrugged.

"I don't have any plans tonight, lucky for you. So sure."

Draco was about to be elated, but thought better of it. There was no way Harry was going to cave this easily.

"What gives? What's the deal?" Draco asked suspiciously, and Harry smiled.

"No deal. I don't have a reason not to go, so I'll go. All I ask is that you leave me alone for the entirety of the evening."

Draco blood went cold. Something inside him writhed in what he thought must be called agony.

"Don't…you…don't want…"

"I don't want to be anywhere near you for at least 90 of the evening. I recognize that we'll have to come in together and leave together, probably have to eat together if they have any kind of formal dining arrangement going on. Beyond that, the less I see of you, the better."

Draco collapsed on the reading chair. He couldn't help it. He legs simply gave out.

"I—" Draco couldn't continue. He was absolutely speechless.

What was Harry doing? Why was he doing it? Did he remember that dream from last night? Was this him being the idiot Gryffindor and trying to push him away? Draco didn't think so. The boy looked much too at ease for that to be the case.

"What's wrong? You've still got your 10. That's plenty of time to parade me around to all the really important people. You'll probably be able to fit in your photo shoot and mini _Prophet_-exposé, too. You've got everything you want with none of the excess. I won't hang around, forcing you to baby sit me through the evening, walking me through conversations just because I'm awkward and shy—Lord knows you showed how little appeal that held for you at the last ball. I promise not to put you through it again. You get all the perks with none of the mess. I'll be at your beck and call for the tabloids and then get out of your hair. Isn't that what you want?"

That thing in Draco writhed again, trying to writhe his body right into Harry's lap in order to more effectively wail, "Noooo!!"

Draco clamped down on this writhing thing.

"That would be perfect, _Potter_," he spat, and he saw another part of Harry's face shut off.

_You just keep digging this hole. I'm really interested to see how you work your way out in the end, _a snide little voice in him said.

_Fighting with Harry apparently splits me into about nine different personalities, _Draco thought bemusedly, going to change his clothes as Harry wrote what was hopefully not another Howler.

Draco could hear an owl at the window, and walked out of the bathroom just as Harry was sending Hedwig off again, riffling through his mail.

"There's a letter for you." Harry muttered, tossing a yellowed envelope onto the bed. Draco couldn't help but be pleased. He _loved_ getting mail. Getting anything, really.

Harry was tearing open his letters as Draco examined his. It was a very plain envelope, with nothing written on it but his name.

He tore it open hurriedly and immediately screamed as something black engulfed his face.

"Draco!" he heard Harry cry, and could feel the boy's hands, panicky on his arms, holding his scrabbling hands still, but trying to clear the thick blackness from Draco's face.

The hands stopped, as if in shock, and Draco opened his eyes, realizing that there was nothing wrong with him. He could see fine, he felt fine, everything was fine.

So why did Harry have that look on his face?

Harry looked completely flabbergasted. Then he laughed.

It was not Harry's normal laugh—bountiful and boyish. This laugh was rough with meanness and raspy with hysterics.

"Oh! Oh! It—it must ha-ha-have been from-m-m the tw-ins!" Harry cried with laughter, and Draco immediately ran for a mirror, heart in his throat with horror.

When he got there his heart was shoved out of the way by a prolonged scream.

XXXX

A/N: Oh shite! Cliff-hanger suckas! I must be in a feisty mood tonight, because I think I'm enjoying myself here…Next one out this weekend (fingers crossed!). If I keep this up, we should be done with this little saga that depresses you all so much by the 31st.

Oh, Lordy! Please review! I implore thee! Even you, Angry-Whatshisface-Who's-Trying-To-Assassinate-Me (AWWTTAM for short)!


	28. The Beau of the Ball, Pt 1

"What do you _MEAN_ it's not coming _off?!_" Draco growled, perched tensely on his mother's bathroom counter.

His mother, standing before him, set down her pumice with a heavy sigh and a weary look.

He thought he could hear Harry snigger, and shot him a deadly glare. Harry's eyes met his with a steady, defiant glance, showing off the evil glint of a smile in their darkened depths. Draco quickly looked away.

"I don't know what to tell you, Draco. It's just not coming off." Narcissa sighed, rubbing her hand. All this scrubbing was really doing a number on her fragile Malfoy musculature.

"Not at all?" Draco said, halfway between panic and whine. He turned to face her bathroom mirror, and was dismayed, for once, to see his own reflection.

There was his gorgeous, ice blonde hair. His faultless cloud-gray eyes. Made all the paler by their contrast against his newly-acquired ink-black skin.

Everywhere the powder in that envelope had touched, the ink set in and spread into his porcelain skin. There were specks of black on his ears, his throat, even a couple on his lips, although the ink didn't appear to have much hold there, and it was fading quickly. Everywhere else, though, it had a grip on his skin cells and was loath to let loose.

"Scrubbing doesn't seem to be doing anything for you at all, besides make you rubbed-red under all that black. What is this stuff? I've never seen anything like it?"

"The Twins are very innovative. They probably invented it." Harry said dully.

"You could show a little more concern you know! What am I supposed to do tonight?!" Draco cried.

Harry shrugged apathetically. "Maybe you could rummage the ole skull mask from out of its stow-away," he suggested bitterly.

Narcissa shot him a One-Step-From-Me-Beating-You-About-The-Head Look, and he shrunk into himself, looking sheepish. Draco got the bitter feeling that Harry wished he could have beamed that comment straight into Draco's skull as to hurt him, but avoid hurting his mother. It was more hurtful to know that this was not because Harry feared his mother, but liked her so much as to not want to hurt her. He appeared to have no such feeling towards Draco.

Draco wanted to shove his mother's hand away from him as she reached to examine his face, and realized that he was heatedly jealous of her at the moment. Harry liked her better.

Instead he put his hand over his ring.

_He _doesn't_ like her better! He's marrying me! _he thought, but even he imagined that it sounded too much like trying to convince himself.

"Well, those Twins are a crack shot team. I've tried every cleaning spell, stain-remover, and even Muggle implement in the book and I just don't see a way to get it off."

"Mom! We have to do _something_! The Ball is only _two hours away_!"

"I've got some top-notch concealer, but…"

"_Make up_?! You want me to wear _make up_?!" he nearly screeched.

Harry was doing that laughing-but-not-laughing thing again, and he seriously considered elbowing him in the gut.

"That's what I thought," Narcissa sighed wearily. "Well, you can either go to the ball like this, or wear some make up. They already know you're gay, Draco, I doubt anyone will think anything of it. If they notice at all. Like I said—it's very good concealer."

"Ohhhhhhhhhh," Draco groaned, wanting very badly to throw a tantrum, but knowing that he didn't have time to get ready for the Ball _and_ throw a tantrum, too. "Fine! Do it! Make up me!"

Harry made a move to follow him to the vanity in his mother's room, and Draco had a flash image of Harry holding his hand consolingly though this assault on his pride and manhood. But he knew that this would not be the case. Wherever that vision had come from, it didn't belong here.

"Oh no you don't!" Draco said, whirling at Harry. "You're not coming! I don't need to give you any more blackmail than you've already got!"

Harry looked surprised for a moment, but then seemed to understand what was just dawning on Draco.

He hadn't thought about blackmail since they had just started up. It wasn't that he had trusted Harry's feelings for him to keep Harry from hurting him like that—there were no feelings to do this. Instead, he had trusted that stolid rigidity within Harry that some referred to as Integrity. Now he didn't even have that. Harry's superhero persona had been stripped away by getting to know the boy, but had been replaced by something he had gradually acknowledged as affection. Now he had neither, and was left with…what? Harry Potter, but with none of the sparkling connotation that went with it. What was that, then?

Harry left to prepare himself "for a night of boredom yet aggravation," and Draco went about destroying the last of his manliness.

Harry struck the final blow when, fully made up, Draco met him at the door to the carriage.

"You look like you're wearing eye liner. In the Muggle world, that means you're Emo. That means you're about five times more likely to slit your wrists if they don't serve your favorite dessert at this ball."

"I'm going to slit _your_ wrists if you don't shut up!" Draco growled, shoving his way into the carriage.

"My wrists are fortified against Emo. It's another of my mother's little gifts."

X

Harry got out of the carriage, and knew that tonight was going to be the worst of what he had imagined.

His brain seemed to turn off with panic from so many people yelling at him—all trying to gain his attention for just long enough to flash a photo or ask an outlandish question in the hopes of tomorrow's local news.

"HARRY!" seemed to come from every direction, and it was only Draco's hands finally taking strong hold of him and moving him forward that got his legs to work properly.

"Don't dawdle—there'll be plenty of time to talk up the reporters once we're in the lobby! You don't want to look desperate for attention!"

"I'm sorry. I'm Harry Potter. We must have not met before, because otherwise _you would fucking know that I'm not desperate for that kind of attention_!" Harry hissed.

"Don't snipe at me in front of the reporters. Someone might hear you."

"I'm very tempted to Embarrass You Publicly right now."

"Don't you dare! That works both ways, Mr. Screaming Nightmares! There'll be such a pity parade for you in tomorrow's Prophet you won't know what to do with it all!"

"You're cutting into your ten percent."

Draco used some of his ten percent in the lobby, chatting easily with reporters important enough to be allowed entrance to the ball—at least the lobby of it.

Harry was amazed (although he _knew_ he shouldn't be) at Draco's ability to wear his façade so easily. The blonde had been a nervous wreck all the way here, but as soon as he had stepped out the carriage, all that disappeared. Suddenly he was the wealthy scion of two aristocratic lines, blessed with good looks, good fortune, and a famous lapdog.

Harry wondered what they looked like to outsiders—to the wizarding world as a whole. He had never thought about the rest of the world when it came to his relationship with Draco, but suddenly he was curious. Did they think that Draco had tricked him, blackmailed him, villainously seduce him into this? Did they think Draco was too good for him, or that he was too good for Draco? Did they think of Draco as that little rich boy who had found a shiny toy to amuse himself with, but would soon throw by the wayside when something newer and less death-prone came along?

Their bias in any direction was unclear even in their questioning, which Draco took the brunt of answering.

Until: "Harry! Aren't you concerned about showing yourself so publicly, what with the recent Death Eater attacks?"

Even other reporters turned to the young journalist with disparaging stares. They at least knew that the New Years Ball was not a forum for depressing questions.

"I don't know," Harry heard himself answering. His voice sounded mechanical, as if his voice box was a tape-recorder and all his mind had to do was press play. "The same seems to happen to me whether I lay low or act normally, so what's the difference? Voldemort knows where I am regardless of whether or not it's in the Prophet."

Harry thought he could probably hear crickets chirping, if there had been any around brave enough to break the silence.

Draco quickly dragged him on further through the crowd.

"Oh My God! Do you have to be so fucking melodramatic?" Draco hissed.

"He asked."

"That doesn't mean you have to answer! Ugh—let _me_ do the talking."

So when the next reporter asked, "Harry, how have you been enjoying yourself at Malfoy Manor?" Harry remained silent.

Draco nudged him, but he only nudged the boy back, saying, "What?"

"Answer the man!" Draco said through grit teeth.

"I thought you said to let you do the talking?" Harry said, making sure the reporters could hear. This caused a slight snigger to go through the crowd of journalists. Harry thought that, despite the black ink and the half-inch of concealer, he could see Draco turning red with fury.

All in all, Harry thought that Draco was probably relieved when Lucius dragged him off to introduce him to a prominent dragon-oil investor, and Harry was hardly less so.

Harry didn't see why Draco would get so impressed over this ball, any more than any other. Sure, the floor was made of glass, overlooking a deserted garden, complete with ice-fairies and yew-nymphs. Sure the chandeliers were made of ice and the millions of candles burned with an icy heat. Sure the food and drinks being carted around by lithe, blue-tinted near-humanoids were some of the most delicate artifacts he had ever had the pleasure of tasting. But it was still chock full of the same dull riff raff as any ball.

"Harry, my boy!" a familiar voice boomed, and Harry turned with near glee.

"Professor Dumbledore!" He hugged the man before realizing what he was doing, and slunk out of the embrace awkwardly.

"Sorry, Professor! It's been a while since I've seen—" Harry nearly said "a friend," but quickly replaced it with "you."

"And you as well, my dear boy! How have you been enjoying yourself?"

"Oh…very well…very well, Professor." Harry mumbled.

"I don't see your date around. How is young Draco?"

"He's fine. His father stole him—er, that is to say, he's with his father." Harry said—he had meant to be funny, but it sounded all too true. "Do you have a date? I mean, are you here with someone?" Harry cringed at the thought of losing Dumbledore to some commitment.

"Well, that's really a suggestion more than a demand; but I thought, the more the merrier! So I brought Professor Snape."

If Harry had been drinking, he would have spit his drink out in a spray of star-champagne at this point.  
"SNAPE?!"

"Ah! Speak of the devil!" Harry thought this saying was most accurate in this regard.

"Professor. Phillius Merkley wishes to speak to you," a voice colder than the chandeliers said.

"Ah! Phillius! He and I are playing a game of wizarding chess via owl—I was hoping to quicken the pace by telling him my next move tonight!" Dumbledore exclaimed, and was off. Harry didn't turn to the figure chilling the back of his neck.

"Potter." Snape nearly spat.

Harry was two seconds away from responding, "Whore-Bucket." but somehow he refrained. He did still have nearly six months with the man to get through.

He quickly moved off so as to not end the night early with a very public blow-out with Snivellus.

He followed a pale flight of stairs and ended up on a secluded balcony overlooking the ballroom, the hundreds of mingling and milling guests. He thought that he would be happy at functions like these if he could act like these people—happy and carefree, enjoying the give and take of clever conversation, the ability to show off their outfits and their wit. Everyone did look very elegant, and they looked even more impressive when he wasn't part of them. Knowing that he was welcome in a group like this somehow took away some of their luster. After all, they couldn't be that elegant if they wanted him there, could they?

_No wonder I hate balls, _Harry thought. _I don't want them to block me out because that's mean, but if they accept me then it proves they're not that impressive. _

He saw a flash of white and watched his boyfriend in the midst of witty banter.

Harry could see where a ball like this would be just the thing for Draco—plenty of important people to impress or dupe or manipulate. Lucius probably brought him to adult soirees rather than playgrounds as a child—Draco seemed to enjoy himself more in this atmosphere.

_Why is he even with me? He loves this scene, and I'm the antithesis of this scene—so why?_

Harry imagined that Draco hadn't been so keen on this type of shindig back in April. Maybe he had gotten burnt out? "I'm tired of being up to snuff all the time," he imagined Draco thinking. "I think I'll go out with that no-maintenance bloke for a while and take a breather from being fancy."

Well, Draco certainly seemed to be catching his second wind. And didn't it look so right? This was Draco's thing; he might as well have been born at a ball. Actually, Harry wondered if he hadn't been born at a ball. He looked so at home here, not like Harry—poor, awkward Harry.

Harry let himself be morbid and imagine Draco in the future, married to Pansy, setting up his own balls. He would gain no enjoyment from Pansy, but they would have a mutual understanding, and Draco would have his ritzy balls, and that would be enough for him.

"Harry—what are you doing up here?" Draco asked, suddenly on the balcony. Harry hadn't noticed him leaving the ballroom floor.

"Oh, just depressing myself." Harry sighed, and Draco smiled at him—a genuine, happy smile.

_Wow, balls make him happy enough to be pleasant._ Harry thought with surprise, and then a deeper, more maliciously self-critical voice added: _Happy enough to not hold a grudge against you being such a prick to him lately. What are you trying to do? Run off the only guy who can put up with you for the majority of the time? What, have you got some stash of boyfriends lined up? You're not worried about losing him? How many people do you really think you're going to find who can love _you

"Well, knock it off. This horribly boring man who runs our wing of the Ministry library wants to talk to you about the Harry Potter "Books for Orphans" Charity." Draco said playfully, taking Harry's hand.

Harry pulled him closer so they were hardly half a foot apart.

"Don't kiss me—the you-know-what will come off!" Draco cried, but Harry only smile, bending down slightly and pecking Draco carefully just on the lips.

"It's probably worn off by now. The twins wouldn't make it too permanent." Harry said.

"Really? Do you think so?" Draco asked hopefully, fingering the line of demarcation where the bare skin on his neck stopped and the made up skin of his jaw started.

Harry nodded happily, kissing him with just _slightly_ more vigor. After all, he wasn't _positive_.

They stayed close like that, Draco's hands on his hips and his hands on Draco's shoulders sedately.

"It's not too late to marry Pansy Parkinson, you know. The two of you could go to all the balls your heart desires." Harry said softly, and Draco smiled, opening his eyes.

"I'm _going_ to go to all the balls my heart desires, and it's _not_ going to be with Pansy "Pug-Nose" Parkinson." Draco replied brightly, pulling Harry closer by his robes.

"I'm not up to all this. I'm not like you—I'm out of my element. In over my head." Harry admitted.

Time seemed, if not to stop, then at least to slow down to allow a few extra moments of tenderness before it all went to hell.

In this extra time Draco reached up and pushed Harry's black locks back, holding the sides of his face gently, letting gravity move his hands to where Harry's neck met his shoulders.

"Harry," Draco murmured, and Harry got prepared to hear The World's Most Romantic Thing Ever.

Unfortunately, said Thing was interrupted by a blinding flash of white light, and an all too familiar squeal of "_Delightful_! Positively _darling_!"

Harry thought that this burn coursing through his body was his blood igniting.

He turned to see the vicious blonde woman, devoid of her normal crocodile-skin handbag, and dressed gaudily in fake diamonds and icy blue dress robes.

"_You_! What are you doing here?!" Harry growled viciously, and was in the middle of taking a threatening step forward when Draco grabbed him and yanked him back like a lunging dog on a leash, further setting his blood to boil.

"Oh, Harry, darling—I'm here on _business_! Business of course! The New Years Ball is a big event, dear, a _big_ event! And even bigger now that _you're_ here, of course!" said Rita Skeeter. "And you're Draco Malfoy, of course," she said smugly, and Draco smiled a cold, calculating smile right back at her.

Only then did Harry remember that it had been Draco helping the nasty woman along all through fourth year. That all seemed like so long ago (for Draco, not for Skeeter).

He yanked his arm out of Draco's grasp, but the blonde hardly seemed to notice.

"Miss Skeeter, what a pleasant surprise. Here I thought the reporters had to remain in the lobby. Yes, I was given this impression quite _distinctly_."

"Well, not all rules apply to all people, young Mr. Malfoy. I'm sure your father could tell you a thing or two about _that_. Oh, but _Harry_! It's been _ages_! We really _must_ catch up. How does it feel to be visiting Malfoy Manor—a building that allegedly played a large role in You-Know-Who's scheming?"

Draco opened his mouth to attack, but Harry beat him to it.

"I think—and you'll want to make sure your little quill gets this down—I think you are the most horrid bitch that ever strutted London, and the fact that you're still standing is proof that Voldemort only murders decent people." Harry growled, and stormed away before she could say anything to ignite him further, dragging Draco along with him. There was no way he was going to leave the antagonized blonde in her word-warping clutches.

"Let go of me!" Draco hissed, and yanked himself out of Harry's grasp, which had probably been over a smidge too tight. "Why'd you pull me away?! I can take her! I took care of her just fine in fourth year!"

"No, _she_ took care of _me_ in fourth year—_that's_ what you helped do."

Draco stopped in shock. "You said you weren't going to mention that! You said that neither of us could mention Ancient History when we got together! That was part of the rules _you_ laid down!"

"_You_ brought it up!"

"Oh we don't have time for this—come and talk to that guy before we get thrown out for murdering Rita Skeeter."

"I don't feel like talking to anyone after that. I'm going mope in the corner."

"You can't do that! They let the reporters in at 11:30! They can't see you moping! And what about my ten percent?!"

"You've got all night to collect—don't spend it all in one place."

"Everyone will be drunk later! This is a New Years Ball! We have to get all the conversation out of the way while everyone's sober!"

"Fine! Ten percent, and you already used some on our grand entrance, so you've got time to introduce me to three people. Four if they keep it short. This doesn't include our exit."

"Oh—lousy ten percent! If we're getting married then I deserve _fifty_ percent! I'll own half of you!"

"You won't _own_ anything. You'll get what I _give_ you—you've got no right to _demand_ it!"

"I'll have every right to demand it! You'll be _my_ husband—_mine_!"

"Not if you keep this up, I won't be!" Harry growled, and he said it too forcefully to bite it back as he wanted to.

Draco was silent with shock for one moment, and then shoved past Harry violently—probably running off to his father.

Harry sighed miserably and shook his head, rubbing his eyes under his glasses.

"Psst! Pisst! Ha-rry!" an obviously inebriated voice said.

"Oh, God. What now?" Harry groaned. He had no time to react as he felt a hand clamp onto his arm, and he was dragged along with a drunken Apparition.

XXXX

A/N: I don't mean to sound too gleeful but…Ha! Another cliffhanger! I can't help it, guys—it's nearly one in the morning! This is where I got! I can't finish it before I fall asleep at the keyboard; I just don't have it in me! But hey, few more chapters and you won't have to deal with my unfair writing style, so be happy!

See you on the flip side, space cowboys!

Review?


	29. Beau of the Ball, Pt 2

Draco moved straight for the bar. 

What he needed now was a very stiff drink. 

How dare Harry! As _if_ the boy wouldn't marry him—_ha_! The soft-hearted little Hufflepuff—Draco would enjoy that! Watching hard-headed Harry duking it out with his soft-hearted alter ego. _That_ would be a sight. 

_Let him just try to get this ring back from me_, Draco thought bitterly, gripping the tiny circle through his robes. _I'll put up the biggest fight he's ever faced!_

Draco was intensely focused on this internal fantasy—of Harry fighting him for the ring and Draco hexing his speky eyes out—and only a sultry little voice murmuring, "Hello, Draco" close-by managed to break him from his reverie by igniting his blood as if it were oil. 

He turned on his heel slowly, partially drunk stiff drink curdling in his hand, and faced the one person he disliked more than Harry at this moment: Blaise Zabini. 

"Blaise. You're looking healthy. Been getting your fill of Christmas treats, I see." Draco said, going for nonchalance, but not managing it since his teeth wouldn't come unclenched. 

"Oh, I've always had a…_problem_ saying no to gingerbread. But, luckily for _me_, _my_ metabolism more than makes up for my predilection for sweets." Blaise returned, taking a sip of his cider demurely. 

Draco did not like the way he put emphasis on the word 'problem'. Surely—_surely_ Harry hadn't told _Blaise_. Not something as personal as _that_. True, he and Harry hadn't hooked fingers like they normally did when subjects were completely off-limits but…surely Harry _knew_ not to tell Blaise. 

"Well, here's hoping your metabolism kicks in soon." Draco said a bit more harshly than he meant too. This was not in line with his normal Blaise-bickering. The only way to beat Blaise, Draco knew, was to out-cool him, out-subtle him, and out-dig him—all without being forthright, all without being noticed. Insults traded with Blaise were the kind that you could never be sure were insults, except for the fact that they pinched you the wrong way, and never left your mind. 

Blaise caught Draco's vehement slip, and smiled, cat-like, as if he had just mentally given himself a tick-mark. Blaise, one. Draco, zero. 

This only made Draco bristle all the more. 

"What are you doing here? I don't believe I've ever seen your family at this ball before. Or is your mother here as a…_special guest_ to one of the party planners?"

"Oh, my mother is very popular. Her friends never have any _complaints_."

Draco nearly started again, and he glared at Blaise discerningly, but the dark, muddy eyes belied nothing. 

"Is Harry around? I'm sure he could use some pleasant company in this crowd."

"Ah, yes, you two seem to be spending a lot of time together. His presence wasn't always so pleasing to you; I recall many a tirade on your part for my mentioning him too often in your presence."

"Well, what can I say—he's growing on me. And I seem to please him very much, too. But of course everyone needs someone to _confide_ in."

This was too much for Draco—he couldn't dance around a piece of knowledge that was so vital for him to know if Blaise had or not. 

He slammed his drink down loudly on the bar, but Blaise didn't even flinch. 

"Just spit it out, Blaise! Did that loose-lipped louse tell you or not!"

"All that and more." Blaise said softly, and while Draco had _suspected_, _knowing_ still froze his body in place with shock. Blaise leaned in close to his still frame. "I told you I'd get him, Draco. And I will. Another week of our little heart-to-hearts and he'll be kicking you to the proverbial kerb."

"Why are you telling me this?" Draco growled, grabbing Blaise discreetly but painfully by the arm. "A Slytherin never tells their plan until it's been carried out. Even by your own estimations you've got another week before that happens."

"Oh, Draco. I'm not _completely_ heartless. I just want you to enjoy your last week with Boy Wonder, because after next week, Harry Potter will belong to me." Blaise hissed, and for once Draco could see even in Blaise's beautiful visage what an ugly, evil person he was. 

Blaise wrenched himself free from Draco's shock-slackened grasp, and smiled his sparkling smile before disappearing back into the crowd. 

X

"Uuuggh, holy fuuuuck." Harry groaned on his back. He sat up off the hard floor. 

"Oh, Albus—I told you to _fetch_ him, not _splinch_ him!" a woman's voice cried.

"Oops!" he heard the headmaster hiccup. 

"What the hell is going on here?" Harry asked, grabbing his glasses off the rug and looking around. 

Narcissa stood with her hand on her hips, scolding Dumbledore, who was reclining at an odd angle in a plush chair next to a hot fire. 

"Hello Harry, darling. Watch your language," Narcissa said cheerily, and went back to chiding Dumbledore. "Are you absolutely sure no one saw you?"

"Sure as rain, Narcissa!" the old man assured. 

"Is Professor Dumbledore drunk?" Harry asked, standing on wobbly legs. 

"He is much more than drunk. He drank some Klatchian wine."

"He's drunk on _wine_? How much did he have—I just saw him less than an hour ago and he was as sober as I am!"

"He had a whole sip, the fool—and incidentally, you're not sober right now, Harry. Dumbledore was silly enough to touch your skin, so I'd say, based on how much wine he drank, you're at least a little buzzed right now."

"Wow. Klatchian wine sounds pretty impressive. Well, I guess that explains why I feel content as opposed to freaked the fuck out that my drunken Headmaster and angry boyfriend's mother kidnapped me during said angry boyfriend's most important ball." Harry sighed, dropping into the chair opposite Dumbledore, who was singing a children's rhyme joyfully to himself, or possibly the dust-speck on his sleeve.

"Well, I came here to make Lucius squirm for a little while, and of course Dumbldore was running the risk of starting a mambo, so I thought it best to bring him with me. It seemed like a good idea to bring you along for the ride, too, once I saw how close you were to…what is it you kids say? Blowing a socket?"

"Blowing a fuse. You saw that? How?"

"Oh, I have a magic mirror. It makes parenting and wifing so much easier."

"That explains it. So how long are we going to sit around in here, then?"

"Well, you seem very much calmed now, but I plan on staying until about 11:50. I figure Lucius will panic more the closer it gets to midnight. There's always a huge photo shoot of the couples kissing at midnight."

"Up—gesh I shuddunta brought Severush." Dumbledore hiccupped. 

Harry laughed and took a heavy silver-framed mirror off the lampstand next to him. 

"It's nice." Harry said, although it was only showing his reflection right now. He thought he looked very much done up—his hair still insane, but less insane than normal thanks to Hermoine's Christmas gift, his collar shoving his head another inch over his shoulders. He looked even more like a vicar than Draco used to.

"Lucius' mother gave it to me when we were married. She had never used it, she said, because she believed in people's privacy. She said it was a test of character to have power like that and not use it. Well—she and I differed on many things. And the old thing's served me well these last twenty-odd years. Of course I do like to test my skill occasionally by only bluffing that I know certain things, but that's just for fun."

"So can you look at anything?"

"I have noticed that there's a censoring charm put on it—probably by Lucius' mother. She was rather a prude."

_I can look at anything I want_, Harry thought, and racked his brains for something he'd like to look at—the moon? Hogwarts? Ron and Hermoine? Lupin?

"Yo, there, mirror," Harry said, tapping the glass. His own reflection faded away to a gray, misty fog. "Show me that rotten boyfriend of mine."

Draco came slowly into view, and Harry realized that no sound came through—only images. Draco was talking with someone or another—the picture was too close-cropped to tell who, but Harry did think that the black shoulder next to Draco looked rather like Lucius'.

Draco must have been talking to someone important—he had that particularly haughty look on his face, the sneering lip and the tight eyes. 

Harry sighed morosely. 

"You two certainly seem to be having a particularly romantic first Christmas holiday together." Narcissa said, sitting on the arm of Harry's chair elegantly. Harry thought that whatever she did turned out elegant—even when plotting against her husband, throwing him in lakes, and other evil things. 

"Oh, yeah, that's us: Hogwarts' Most Romantic Couple."

"It was Hogwarts' Hottest Couple. I remember. I voted." Dumbledore interjected. "You also won Hogwarts' Couple Most Likely to Murder Each Other."

"Well, at least we're living up to that one." Harry muttered. 

"So how much longer do you give yourself?" Narcissa said in a stoic voice that betrayed itself for how much it strained to be stoic.

Harry gave her a long, confused look. "Um…you mean…until Vol—"

"No, no! I mean, of…of putting up with all this?"

"With all of what?"

Harry's ignorance was too much for Narcissa's tact, and she gave up violently.

"Oh my God—how dense _are_ you! Of bickering with each other, of him dragging you around my your leash, of him being a complete haughty asshole to you day after day and ignoring you or sniping at you or bossing you around!" Narcissa had jumped up for her very loud tirade, and stood panting when she was done. 

Harry glanced into the mirror in his lap, and slowly leveled it so she could see.

This confused her enough to capture her attention: Whatever conversation going on was still in progress based on the gesticulations cutting into the mirror's view, but Draco's thoughts seemed to be far from the topic. He glanced down at something in his hands and then scanned the room slowly and even Narcissa had to admit that her stoney son looked surprisingly soft; he looked as if he were alone in a desert and hoping for the glance of an oasis. When he didn't find it he sighed heavily and stared of into space, stroking that spot high up on his chest with the backs of his knuckles slowly.

"I'm always going to put up with it. There are parts of myself I don't like, either, but I can't leave them anymore than I can leave Draco." Harry replied, and stood harshly. "I have to get going. I'll see you at about 11:50, okay?"

"Professor—it's been a joy to see you so thoroughly trashed. How about one for the road?" Harry questioned, and held out his hand, which Dumbledore shook in dense confusion. 

Harry shook his arms out. "Wow that's some good Klatchian wine," he sighed, and Apparated away. 

Narcissa picked up the mirror and collapsed into Harry's vacated chair, feeling abashed and exhausted with her outburst. She watched as Draco obviously caught sight of Harry—his entire visage lit up…with something hyperactively malicious, quickly replaced with seeming joy. 

"Uh oh." Narcissa said, knowing what kind of nastiness that glint in her son's eyes meant. 

She let her head fall onto her shoulder tiredly. "I'm too mature to deal with all this teenage drama," she groaned. 

"Humph—_you're_ too mature! I'm _headmaster_ of this drama, and I'm eighty years more mature than you! Ugghh, where's Severus? It's nearly midnight."

X

"_There_ you are—it's nearly midnight." Draco growled very softly when Harry kissed his cheek in greeting. 

"I've still got fifteen minutes until I've officially survived into the next year." Harry responded, putting his arms around Draco's waist and pressing their foreheads together.  
"Just so you know," Draco said, pulling back and smiling up at him. "I'm very mad at you right now."

"Hm. You don't look mad at me." Harry said. _I must still be drunk, _Harry thought, _because this admission is having no effect on me. _

"It's for the witnesses. I don't want anyone to suspect me when they fish your body out of the English Channel."

"I'm pretty sure I can name the number-one suspect they'll come up with. But don't feel bad, I'm sure you'll be somewhere in the Top Ten. After all, we did win Hogwarts' Couple Most Likely to Murder Each Other."

Draco seemed to ignore his murderous intents for a moment, and laughed genuinely.

"Oh my _God_, I'd nearly forgotten about that." Draco said, turning his head to the side.

"So are you going to tell me what I'm going to be murdered for?" Harry questioned, kissing Draco's exposed neck. 

"No," Draco said petulantly. "If I start talking about it, I'll murder you right here, and put a major damper on all the festivities. I just don't want you to be surprised when we get home and I start screaming at you, because that's exactly what's going to happen—if I manage to contain myself on the carriage ride home."

Harry sighed, knowing Draco was fully serious, and held the boy's face still, and touching noses for a moment.

"Then let's just enjoy these next couple hours, okay? Let's just be happy that we still love each other before it all gets shot to hell." Harry sighed, and Draco nodded solemnly, shoving his anger to fester on the backburner. It looked as if Blaise had overshot his estimation of a week. 

"Angsty much? I thought you were fortified against emo?" Draco teased—if he was going to enjoy these last few hours, he was goddam well going to _en-joy_ them. 

Harry laughed and pulled off his boyfriend. "Whew! That was a close one! I almost succumbed to my natural angst. That comes from nurture, not nature, just so you know. My poor mum did what she could."

"I know what'll get you out of this angsty mood: let's go annoy Snape!"

"Yey! Oh wait, we have to do the New Years Kiss, first."

Draco almost pointed out that you only kissed if you were going to be together for the next year, but that animal madness inside him lunged to the foré and he attached himself desperately to Harry's mouth—it felt painfully as if his soul were trying to claw its way out of his body through his mouth and get to Harry—to remain with him, to defy separation. 

This was the part of himself that belonged more to Harry than to him. And how would it be able to survive without the Gryffindor?

Draco shuddered to think of it. 

XXXX

A/N: Am I making you nervous? You can admit it. I won't hold it against you. I'm guessing though, that you're too pissed the fuck off at me to be very nervous. Two cliff-hangers and then I give you this! You guys must be setting up a committee to torture me into writing fluff! Well, if that's the case, then hold off your forces! I'm punching out the next chapter soon, and I think it will appease you. Although history has taught me to shudder at appeasement policies, I'm going to make this one fun for me, too, so I guess it's not _really_ appeasement. 

Review please, and tell me all of the fluffy things you want in the next chapter—it's a gift from me to you for putting up with my angst! I'll try to fit them all in, but keep in mind the limited space I'll have (ONLY ONE CHAPTER). 

Also, I totally lied about getting this done by the 31st. Gawd—I'm such a liar!


	30. short but hardly angsty!

A/N: Sheesh, thanks for all the help, you guys

A/N: Sheesh, thanks for all the help, you guys. I was TOTALLY going to forego the fluff chapter to get back at you losers for making think up my own fluff, but, frankly, I like you guys a lot…

So here's my totally lackluster chapter of happiness before we go back to the DOOM. Just keep in mind that the DOOM will be back next chapter. So, you know…enjoy whatever chapter this is. 290? 300? I know, it's dragging on forever. But we'd be one chapter closer to the ending if I could get myself to ignore you guys and get on with the angsty emo drama! Ah, oh well.

HERE WE GO!

"What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?!" Lucius hissed in a strangled tone.

Blaise tried to swallow the nervous lump in his throat, but it wouldn't go down. He had to talk past it.

"There's no way. I just struck the jugular; it takes time for poison to affect the host, but not _this_ long! Why are they _smiling_?!" Blaise said, his voice guttural and primal.

"This is _impossible_! They were ready to drown each other in the lake right before we came! Why do they look so _happy_?" Lucius felt as if he were hit with a pesky beam of light. They were happy. They were _happy together_.

He quickly waved the epiphany out of his face so he could see his son and That Boy more clearly.

They appeared to be making Snape turn green by whatever they were saying to him.

"This. Is. Not. Possible." Blaise grit out.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Lucius said, nearly clawing his face. It was a good thing he wore gloves. "Agh! It's Narcissa! Down—down!" Lucius gripped Blaise by his scull and shoved him bodily under the fondue bar.

And none too late, as Narcissa, nearly panting with her rush, pulled up beside him.

"What were you talking to Blaise about?" she snarled.

"Whatever are you talking about, popkins? The boy simply asked me if I'd seen his mother around." Lucius said, barely able to eke out his lie in face of Narcissa heavy scowl. He wasn't used to lying point-blank to his wife in this kind of hyper-aggravated state, and that was a hard habit of truthfulness to overcome, which might explain why his lie was overall lacking in believability and confidence.

Yet it still put Narcissa at an impasse, as her husband had been doing to her for the last week. She couldn't tell him about her secret weapon mirror, so she simply gave him a look to let him know that she didn't buy it for a moment and said,

"That's another week, mister—for lying to me!"

"_Agh_! I wasn't lying to you! How could you possibly kno—_think_! that I was lying to you?!"

"You want to make it another two, you forked-tongued little fruitcake?!"

"God, please, no! Narcissa—I won't _survive_ another month without playing buppy!"

"You'll be lucky if it stays at only a month, the way you're behaving! I refuse to discuss it here. But don't for a moment think that I don't know you're up to something, Lucius Malfoy!" the blonde woman hissed mightily, and stormed off.

Sometimes his wife scared him _much_ more than any Dark Lord.

Lucius waited until she was definitely out of sight before grappling under the table and hauling Blaise up by his hair.

"If nothing comes of this plot, and therefore of me losing a month and half of buppy—I'm going to tear you limb from fucking limb!" Lucius snarled, and tossed the boy away before going to the bar for the sole purpose of getting drunk. He planned on spending the next month at a high level of inebriation. It was only way he'd make it.

X

"So then we were thinking that if we _do_ end up getting married, you could be the bridesmaid." Draco said, holding Snape's arm so the man was sure not to bolt.

"Or the maid of honor. Whichever you prefer." Harry added.

"We would, of course, make you one of the best men, but we've already decided that Harry's going to play the groom, and of course I wouldn't want you anywhere near that bachelor party. It'll be all Gryffindors, you can be sure."

"Knowing Ron, there'll probably be a lot of stripping going on, and although I know you've been praying to get a good look at me starkers for the past six and a half years of school, I'll be a married man, and that was, is, and forever will be wholly inappropriate."

Snape opened his mouth to explode, and Draco quickly shoved a cookie into the gaping hole.

"God—stop eating! You're such a fatty! You'll never fit into your bridesmaid's dress if you keep on at this rate!"

Snape gave a strangled sound as he tried to swallow the entire dessert—there was no way to spit it out in a crowd like this.

"We were thinking of doing a cowboy theme, which means a very high bodice and cute little bonnet for you, which is good, considering the state of your hair these last few decades. But you will have to bathe before the wedding—there won't be any potions fumes to cover up this particular…_musk_ you seem to emanate. But the dress will be very flattering: the high waist-line should completely cover your old-man pudge."

Snape made a murderous sound, but Draco patted his stomach hard enough to knock the wind, and therefore the words, out of him.

"Oh, Severus, don't be _embarrassed_! So you've gone a bit to seed. Who cares? It's not like anyone takes peeks under your old bat-robes anyways. In any case, I wanted to ask your opinion of the color scheme. We were thinking lilac and lime green. What do you think? We want it to be neutral."

"Yeah, but also we were going to have a lion. As ring bearer. Would you mind terribly leading it down the aisle? We've already talked to the trainer, and he says it should be no problem: Leo's only ever killed three people, which, apparently, is a pretty good statistic in the trade."

Snape finally managed to wrench his gangly arms out of Draco's vice-like grip, and grabbed both boys by their cravats, face a putrid shade of volcanic ire (which is reddish, with varying shades of orange, depending on what volcano god you worship).

"I'll murder the both of you before I allow you to marry each other!" he said in The Most Menacing Voice Harry had ever heard a voice box emit—which was saying something, considering how many time he'd nearly been murdered, and by whom.

"Well _sheesh_! Never_mind_! If that's how you're going to act about it then you most certainly are _not_ going to be my maid of honor!" Draco cried, wiping the man off his shirt front.

"And you are formally not invited to the rock-awesome after-party/reception jam out!" Harry added, pulling himself loose. "Gawd! You'd think a guy so desperate for attention would _enjoy_ being in the wedding of the century! This attitude, mister, perfectly explains why you're still a virgin!"

"Come, Harry—I can see when we're not wanted! Severus, I was going to let you sit next to my father at the reception, but you, sir, are completely uncouth!"

"It's probably for the best—that wedding cake would go straight to his hips." Harry and Draco pranced off in search of another victim to keep their spirits high, but Harry couldn't help dispel his sense of time. As soon as they cleared this party he was going to have to have The Talk. And he didn't even know what The Talk was. He just knew he wanted to put it off for as long as possible.

_This must have been how Cinderella felt, _he thought miserably, and gripped Draco's hand anxiously on their way to the punch bar. Draco looked back at him slightly and squeezed his hand. Harry was amazed at the amount of comfort that offered.

He knew that he would never leave Draco—it was like he told Narcissa, he wasn't _capable_ of leaving Draco. There were some people, he had known even as a child, that couldn't kick heroine or methamphetamines—Draco offered the same amount of addiction with none of the tweaks, twitches, and bad skin. Harry knew better than to even try to kick this habit. Draco loved him, and he loved Draco, and so long as those two things were true, he knew they would always be together.

So why did it still feel as if everything was crashing slowly around him, and in another couple of hours he might be able to examine the rubble, if he weren't buried underneath it all?

XXXXXX

A/N: AGH! That's all I can think of to write! Personally, I blame you punks for not helping a girl out. Um, so…I'll try to get the next chapter up in the next two days. I'm going to get as close as I can to the ending before the 31st. You know…cuz I hate to break verbal contracts…

I know I'm normally a stickler for reviews, but I feel so bad about giving you only two pages that I totally won't hold it against you if you boycott my review board on this one. Although that would still be a very heartless thing of you to do, since I really am working my ass of to finish this thing!


	31. Doom

A/N: Please don't cry

A/N: Please don't cry. I'd feel bad.

It was a tense carriage ride home. It was made tenser by the fact that Draco had to pretend that it was not tense.

Harry and Draco had both, if not exactly planned, then at least come to an understanding that it would be acceptable if they had their blow-out fight in the carriage.

This, thanks to Lucius, was made impossible.

"Draco, tell Lord Downey that diverting anecdote you shared with me yesterday. Caleb, the things this boy comes up with! A regular wit, just like his grandfather. It's most entertaining."

Lucius had o-so-graciously decided to bring Lord Caleb Downey, a sour-looking financier, and Professor Snape along to the Manor for a night cap and what promised to be a smoking room full of Dark conversation.

Harry felt queasy already.

When Harry was introduce to Downey as "something Draco picked up at school," like a cold or the measles, Downey had greeted him with a dry "Ah, yes. The Boy Who Lived to Know Better Than His Elders," and had shaken his hand fleetingly, as if not wanting to catch whatever Harry was infected with—disobedience, probably.

Downey dressed similarly to Snape, as if he were going to a funeral, except he looked as if the funeral he was off to was his own. The man had to be older than Dumbledore, but much less vibrant. He looked as if he were practicing for death by cutting back on his living, weaning himself off life gradually.

Downey automatically made it into Harry's Top Ten Most Loathed, which was saying something considering the competition. Essentially, a new event to evade was added to Harry's evening: the smoking room with these jackasses and his brimming fight with Draco.

So of course when they entered the Manor and he tried to escape to his room, Draco stopped him. Harry thought the boy got a perverse sense of joy out of saying, "You have to join us Harry; the men always retire to the smoking lounge. You're a man, aren't you?"

"To get out of that smoking lounge, I'll have an operation. Come on, let me go." Harry hissed, pulling on his restrained arm.

"Potter, come, don't dawdle." Lucius commanded.

"I detest dawdling. It should be a capital crime." Downey croaked slowly.

Harry sighed resignedly. Fine, they could make him go, but they couldn't make him talk.

Unfortunately, he couldn't stop himself from listening. He knew that he'd have no interest in anything men like these could talk about in relative private, he knew that it would only antagonize him, opinions like theirs. Yet his naturally curious nature continuously worked against him, and he would find his ears keying into their conversation, despite trying to distract himself with Beatles lyrics, guitar chords, or wizarding history dates and names.

"Well of course I would prefer a pure-blood, but what are you going to do? The choices have been so diminished. Everyone seems to be intermarrying these days. It's nearly impossible to find someone of my predilections who isn't somehow tainted," he heard Draco say, and sat up stiffly.

"It was certainly easier when I was young. Modern morals are slipping." Downey grumbled.

"Basically I've got the choice between Blaise Zabini and permanent celibacy—and with a mother like that, his origins are questionable to say the least."

"Hold on, hold on. Back up." Harry said. "What do you mean you'd prefer a pure blood?"

"I don't see how it's in any way vague." Lucius said breezily. "He'd like you better if your mother weren't a Mudblood. Really, Draco, how do you manage to have conversations with the boy—his capabilities for comprehension are near Trollish!"

Harry, blood on fire, turned to Draco angrily, waiting for the righteous indignation to erupt from the blonde. After all, this was the boy who had hexed Millicent Bulstrode for saying "His glasses look stupid."

Instead, Draco laughed and said evilly, "Well, let's just say that I don't keep him around for his stimulating conversation."

This gave everyone a good chuckle, except Harry, who jumped off the couch and stormed outside, nearly shattering the windows when he slammed the door hard on Draco's laughing, "Oh, Harry! Learn how to take a joke!"

Harry paced angrily through the newly-fallen snow and clenched his fists, leaving purple-red crescent shapes on his palms. He could hardly breath he was so furious. His tumultuous breaths were coming out in mini-snarls as he planned exactly what he would storm back in with—oh he would really embarrass the brat, right in front of that old skeleton and his oily Potions teacher and that bitch of a father. He'd get the little pillock good.

"Hi there, Harry. What are you doing out in the cold?"

Harry jerked his head up, and saw Blaise Zabini traipsing up the garden path.

"Blaise? What are you doing here?"

"I didn't get to hang out with you at the ball, so I thought I come see how you liked it—your first big ball." Blaise laughed, but then looked concerned. "Doesn't look like you had a very good time. What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine…" Harry grumbled, but Blaise refused to let it go at that.

"Come on, tell me about it." He took Harry's hand in his and led him to one of the ornate stone benches in the garden.

After all that anger, Harry suddenly felt incredibly deflated and tired. He rested his elbows on his knees, scrubbing his hair with his free hand.

"It's just Draco. I don't know what's wrong with him! It's like every time he's around his dad lately, he magically transforms back into his asshole eleven-year old self! I don't want to date eleven year-old Draco! That Draco is never very nice to me!"

"Oh, Harry," Blaise murmured consolingly, putting his free arm around Harry's shoulders and resting his head on the back of Harry's neck. "He'll be fine once he's back at Hogwarts and away from his father."

"I don't want that—I don't want a fair-weather boyfriend! I hardly ever have any fair weather! I'd get to be with him maybe three months out of the year!" Harry growled, not noticing Blaise's actions in his anger. He certainly didn't feel Blaise glancing up to see someone getting up from the couch in the smoking lounge.

"Well, nobody said you had to stay with him. If he's not there for you the way you need him to be…well, I hate to say it, you two are _so_ cute together but…if it's not working out…"

Harry was dreading his next words, but they never came. Instead he heard a ferocious voice scream, "_Sepratum_!" and with a bolt of yellow light he felt himself snatched sideways as if Grawp had smacked him aside. There was a bolt of pain up one leg as something hard struck him with an impossibly loud _Thunk_! He found himself sitting up in one of Narcissa's thorny rosebushes, but adrenaline was doing what pain killers could not, and he barely felt the sharp pricks all around him.

"What the FUCK were you doing?!" Draco screamed from his left, but Harry was focused on what was in front of him.

On the other side of the bench he could clearly make out Blaise's unconscious form, crumpled and tiny looking at the base of a blood-stained stone birdbath. That was where the _thunk_ had emerged from—not his own leg catching on the sharp rocks lining the garden proper.

"Shit—Blaise!" Harry gasped, and pushed his hands deeper into the thorns, ignoring the pain, in order to shove himself onto his feet. He stumbled on his sore leg, but managed through it, pulling Blaise up by his shirt front. The Slytherin had hit the side of his head against the bath, tearing a deep gash through his skin and hair. Blood flowed freely down his face and neck, staining his pristine white scarf a sickening red. Harry quickly snatched up a handful of cobwebs from the hollow of the birdbath and placed it over the cut. The gray-ish gloss turned burgundy under the rivulets of blood.

Blaise groaned in pain, coming to.

"Hey, hey, come on, wake up. I'm going to take you to Mrs. Malfoy—she'll heal you right up, okay? But I need you to hold this against your head until we get to her, okay? Can you do that for me?"

Blaise blinked blearily, barely able to hold his head up on his neck. "I'm bleeding?" He asked groggily, bringing a flimsy arm in a generally upwards motion—he couldn't manage to aim it properly, and so Harry set his hand against the wound and its cover.

"Yes, you are, but we'll get you patched up in no time, okay? No worries." Harry grit his teeth and hauled the boy into a standing position, leaning the thin frame against his own sturdier one. Only then did he realize that Draco had been screaming himself hoarse the entire time.

Draco blocked the entrance to the Manor just as Harry tried to limp past him.

"Move, Draco!"

"What were you two doing out here?!"

"Mo—"

"_What were you doing_?!"

"Move the fuck out of my way!" Harry shouted, run out of patience, and shoved his boyfriend in the chest, hard, against the stone wall.

His pathway cleared, Harry half-carried Blaise through the door and up the staircase to Narcissa's parlor room.

Draco remained, panting heavily, shocked, against the wall, breath coming in tiny, luminous white puffs.

"Draco…" He jerked up to see his father at the door, and the entire congregation rubber-necking behind him. That they had witnessed this display—boyfriend cheating on him, yelling at him, _shoving_ him—only made the Slytherin more angry. He didn't think he had ever felt so humiliated—and by Harry _again_! Quidditch, popularity, fame—the Boy-Who-Lived to humiliate him!

"Don't worry, Father. I'll take care of it." Draco said tightly, and stormed past the party members up to his own room where he paced and clenched his fists bitterly, awaiting his prey.

X

"How on earth did this happen?" Narcissa cried as Harry lowered Blaise's loose body down onto her chaise.

"That crazy-ass son of yours did some spell—it shot me and Blaise apart off the garden bench."

"Ah, _Sepratum_. He used to practice it on the parlor chairs. Left nasty gashes in the arms when they hit the wall." Narcissa murmured as she wiped Blaise's face clean from blood.

"Yeah, well, imagine Blaise's head instead of the chairs' arms."

"_Ah_. Here, what is all this?" she asked, picking at bits of cobweb.

"Oh, um, it's cobweb. Hermoine told me it helps…" Harry said with embarrassment.

"Smart girl. But here, I'll have to get it all loose from him before I patch him up—don't want cobwebs in your head, now do you Blaise?"

But Blaise only groaned a semi-lucid response.

"Do you think he'll be okay? It didn't crack his skull, did it? It made a horrible sound when it hit."

"No, no, the skull is a very strong bone—especially Blaises—, it looks as if his head just skimmed it and it split the skin. Here, help me keep his hair back."

Harry did as he was told, holding Blaise upright with one hand and petting back his hair with the other.

"Owwww," Blaise groaned, moving his head away from Narcissa's picking fingers and into Harry's chest.

"It's okay, Blaise. It's almost all out," Harry murmured, petting the hair gently. He didn't notice Narcissa's sideways glances, focused as he was on Blaise's wound.

"What on Earth made Draco so angry?" Narcissa asked demurely, and for some reason she had expected Harry to move around her questioning, subvert and deflect it as Blaise himself would have most likely done in Harry's situation.

Instead she got, "Oh he's got this stupid idea in his head that Blaise and I are going to run off together into the sunset and make wild, passionate love to one another. He's going completely insane, and I wholeheartedly blame your evil husband!"

"Well…why is that such a stupid idea? People run off together into the sunset and…well…do that all the time."

"Not me! God, if he knew me at all he'd stop leveling all these accusations my way! I'm sick of it! I'm the freaking Golden Boy of Gryffindor—what kind of lewd wretch does he think I am, having trysts in frozen gardens?"

"Oh, don't be so hard on him, Harry. Slytherins are bred to be suspicious."

"Well then maybe I shouldn't be dating a Slytherin!" Harry growled, and then jerked upright so quickly that Blaise slid off his shoulder and hit the wall, creating a _thud_ amidst the eerie silence.

"Being Slytherin is part of Draco. Did you take that into consideration when you said you'd never break up with him?" Narcissa asked slowly, but Harry didn't answer. Instead, he said,

"I don't know what's going on. Draco has this ability to turn off and on certain parts of himself—and every time he's around his father he turns off everything that made me fall in love with him, and turns on everything that made me hate him when we first met."

"Draco loves you, Harry. I see it when he looks at you, even when he _thinks_ of you. Don't punish him for his father's own sociopathic egomania."

Harry sighed and glanced at Blaise, apparently sleeping, but maybe unconscious.

Narcissa noticed his passionless, almost bored glance, and was relieved. She murmured the spell to heal Blaise's gash and then Harry's small wounds, and rose.

"Don't worry about Blaise. I'll floo him back to his house. I'll have to explain all this to his mother, in any case." Harry nodded, sapped of energy, sapped of thought or prospects. "Harry…Don't be too hard on him. He _is_ trying."

_Is he? _Harry thought. Because it certainly didn't look that way.

Draco wasn't trying to be nice to him, he wasn't trying to aid in Harry and Lucius getting along—he picked sides depending on who was around him rather than trying to mend the breach between the two warring factions. But of course he was—that was easier, and didn't Draco always do what was easiest for _him_?

So where did that leave Harry? Would he always be the one to sacrifice and suffer while Draco continuously put himself first? Would it always be him giving up friends and happiness for Draco's desires and whims? Would Draco always be the master bossing him around, and he always the lap dog doing as he was instructed? Was that what Draco expected from him?

It was probably a bad coincidence, then, that as soon as he opened the bedroom the door, Draco turned to him and growled, "You are not to see Blaise Zabini any more!"

It took Harry about one second to go from confused to murderously angry.

"Excuse me?" he nearly shouted.

"You heard me! You really think after a little show like that I'm really going to let you keep seeing that skanky whore?!"

"_Let_ me?!"

"Oh don't give me any of that your-own-man crap, cheater! If you're going to be this wayward then I at least need assurance that you're not going to fuck around on me with _that_ piece of trash!"

"I wasn't cheating on you!" Harry growled, fists clenching tight enough to draw blood.

"Oh, please! I saw you two! You only spend every fucking day together! Have you been fucking him this whole time—because I'm certainly not getting any, and with your libido it must be going somewhere!"

"_You are insane!_ Is _this_ what your father's been telling you?!"

"Leave my father out of this! Just because _he_ at least doesn't want to see me embarrassed by your infidelity enough to give me proper warning—which is more than you care, apparently!"

"_Fuck you and fuck your asshole father_!" Harry grabbed Draco's arms, shaking with anger, and forced him back against the wall, crushing the blonde's body under his own. "He put you up on that shiny pedestal, oh God did he, and I dragged you down and _you liked it_! And just because he's reminding you of the view from up there you think you're going to jump back up and bring me with you—well I like it down here in mediocrity and _so. do. you_!"

Draco shook the brunette off of him, panting hard with Harry's words and that gravelly voice that only ever did one thing to him.

"So maybe I did like it! So what? Does that mean I can never go to a ball again, or dress nice, or fix my gaddam hair?! What? Doesn't it physically hurt you to carry on conversations with people, to play up the crowd and be a little popular? Is it so hard for you to be respectable and ritzy? Do you have some kind of allergy to learning which fucking spoon to use with your goddamn soup? So I try to teach you a few things so you aren't a complete embarrassment to me!"

"Is that what you want? A polite little puppet on a string for you to pull around and show off to your nasty, condescending, rich acquaintances? Is that who you want me to be? Like Parkinson, like Nott? Because I've got to say, if that's what you want then you can go date _them_. That's not who I am. I'd do anything for you, Draco, but I can't play pretend for my whole life. I can't pretend to be someone I'm not."

"That's not what I'm asking you to do! God, I'm asking you to be polite, to be social and yeah, maybe even a bit _impressive_! I don't see that that's so hard!"

"It seems to me that if you really enjoyed this life so much you wouldn't have taken up with me and effectively given this kind of living a big 'Fuck You'."

"Oh whatever, that's not what I was doing!"

"What were you doing, then? Why did you ever pick up with me?"

"Because I'd seen you on a broom and I thought you'd be a good fuck." Draco snarled angrily, and could immediately tell that he had gone too far.

Yet it shut Harry up, so he kept going, getting that adrenaline rush that being evil always gave him, that power high of someone being at the mercy of his words. So he struck again.

"You think the Weasleys are so great for being stupid and impractical and poor—but if they had an ounce of respectability in the wizarding world they'd work just as hard as my family does at keeping it!" Draco shouted, and watched in wonder as his hands lashed out and shoved Harry hard enough to force the boy backwards. It finally felt as if he were winning this argument.

"You think I'm supposed to be _happy_ to have a boyfriend who doesn't know which cup his wine's in?! Did you really expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your circumstances? You think I'm just supposed to forget what it's like to have refinement and live with you on a farm in the middle of fucking nowhere?!" he shoved again, and still, Harry seemed too stunned to respond.

"Completely uncultivated and—on top of that—dense enough to believe Blaise Zabini's little piteous ploys! Falling into the trap of playing the hero again, Harry—and one would have thought that you'd have learnt your lesson after fifth year!" Shove. Harry looked as if all the blood had run out of his face.

Draco, filled with joyous and despicable pride of having the Boy Who Lived at his mercy, a joy that he had never received from tormenting Harry since they had gotten together, went in for the kill, gripping Harry's lapels harshly.

"And don't you dare talk to me about father-son relationships," he hissed hotly. "It's a subject you know nothing about!" And Draco shoved him hard enough to bow his own body forward with the force of it.

There was a dull pop.

Draco froze for a moment, but then pulled himself harshly upright.

He pushed his fallen strands of hair, wet with sweat, back over his skull and readjusted his robes. He walked out the door with only a small jolt in his pace as he tread through the spot Harry had just been occupying.

He returned to the smoking lounge with a parched mouth and numb brain and continued a jerking conversation with Lord Downey and his father and Severus, and refused to think about where Harry could or would have Apparated to.

XXXX

A/N: Don't cry, just review!


	32. Honor Among Theives

AN: Quick little filler

A/N: Quick little filler.

Lucius didn't understand until breakfast _sans_ Harry why he had been locked out of his bedroom last night and forced to sleep fretfully on one of the notoriously uncomfortable Malfoy guest room beds ("If you make them comfortable, your company will never leave!" his father had explained in his usual snarl).

He tried to hide his glee, glance jerking from his wife stabbing her toast to his son pushing his fruit around stoically.

He definitely wasn't going to get much celebrating done with this crowd.

"I'll think I'll take a stroll around the park—it's a gorgeous day!" he crowed. He thought that, in the future, he should strive to make his voice sound a bit more demure, as he unstuck the fork that Narcissa had…_inadvertently_ thrown at his head from the back of his chair.

"I'll come with you," Draco said quickly, making to stand.

"No, no, no!" Lucius rushed. "I…you stay and read that essay Lord Downey left you—we're visiting him later today and I want you to be well versed."

"Yes, sir." Draco said compliantly, and settled back in his chair dolefully.

He avoided Narcissa's eyes as he left the breakfast table. He made sure he was well outside the Manor before Apparating to Zabini's.

"Are congratulations in order?" the smirky brunette asked, opening the door.

"They are indeed! Your mother isn't around, is she? I feel champagne is in order!" Lucius strolled into the parlor, conjuring a bottle of ancient champagne and two flute glasses.

"A bit early in the morning for alcohol, don't you think?" Blaise said with a cringe, rubbing his head. The cut was healed well enough, but the dull pain was still there. Seeing as how Narcissa was quite proficient at healing curses, Blaise felt that this clumsiness was on purpose.

"Oh buck up—our plot came to fruit! And way before schedule, I should add." Lucius said proudly, pouring himself a glass. He wasn't used to his plots working.

"We're not out of the woods yet." Blaise grumbled, collapsing onto the couch tiredly. "They could still get back together."

"Oh, I don't think so. Besides, aren't you taking precautions against that on your end? I thought you were planning on keeping Potter busy."

"Oh I plan on keeping the boy very busy indeed. I'm more concerned about the monkey wrench your son could throw into my fine work."

"_What_?! You think _Draco's_ going to go looking for _Potter_? Try to get him back?"

"That's _exactly_ what I think. It'll take a few days, but eventually your son's bruised ego is going to stop wailing and his meager conscious is going to be able to be heard."

"I—well—what do you suggest?" Lucius asked petulantly, tossing himself into a chair and swallowing his second glass of champagne in a gulp.

"Make sure his ego stays loud. Don't let him forget how Harry treated him. When Harry doesn't apologize it's Harry's fault; when Harry doesn't write it's because Harry's callous; when Harry and I start dating it's because Harry doesn't know a good thing when it's dragging him home to meet the parents—get it?"

"Shouldn't be hard. Draco doesn't like to believe that anything's ever his fault."

"Well, just make sure he doesn't forget it."

"Okay, okay!" Lucius growled. He was very tired of the boy's condescending suggestions, and was quite glad that their time together was done with.

"Alright, then. I should be off."

"Going to meet with Potter?"

"Of course—I just found out that he and Draco broke up, and I'm off to console the poor boy. We're friends, after all, how could I continue on my day without seeing if he's all right?" Zabini said mock-innocently.

"You're a horrible little person, Blaise Zabini, and I'm glad to be rid of you." Lucius sighed, leaving his champagne bottle on the table and standing to leave.

"I feel quite likewise, sir." Zabini replied brightly, walking him to the door. Yet when they shook hands, Zabini gripped his violently as if possessed, and pulled him frighteningly close, spitting in a silky, demonic voice, "I don't want you to walk off thinking you're better, more moral than I am, _sir_. You are so much worse. I don't care for Harry so far as being on his arm will lead me to bigger, better arms to be on—but you love Draco!"

He shoved the shocked blonde away from him, suddenly back to normal.

"Ta, Mr. Malfoy!" he said cheerily, and slammed the door hard behind him.

Lucius stood on the doorstep for nearly a full minute before wiping his hands clean with snow and trudging the long way home through the forest. He thought that he would be ill that afternoon, and cancel his appointments for the day, maybe lock himself away somewhere in the Manor where he wouldn't have to see Draco or his wife with her all-knowing eyes.

XXX

A/N: Let's continue!


	33. Poor Draco, NotSoPoor Harry

x Poor Draco x

x Poor Draco x

Draco opened his eyes. He forced himself to sit up. He forced himself to put his feet on the ground. He forced himself out of bed. He forced himself to take a shower.

Today marked day two. This was his second morning waking up without Harry. This marked the passing of the second night spent sleeping without Harry.

It, sadly, wasn't any easier than the first day.

"Don't worry," his father had told him, repeatedly. "It gets easier." It was one of the many things (seemingly untrue, Draco thought) that his father had been telling him through yesterday, almost grudgingly, as if he himself didn't really believe it.

Yet on the whole both he and his father seemed to have come to a silent agreement that Harry was not to be discussed. When Lucius gave his little romantic untruths, it always seemed to be rushed and embarrassed—he knew that he was breaching their silent contract. And yet his vows jumped off his tongue as if he were trying to convince himself, too, and his own agony prompted his breaking of their agreement.

Narcissa was the only one who insisted on acknowledging that Harry had ever existed.

"Harry sent me a letter," she said yesterday, cornering him alone in the hallway. He had been spending as much consoling time in an alternate reality with his father, in which Harry Potter was never born.

"Good for you." Draco had said dully. Lately he had only been able to say anything dully—his voice was no longer capable of snarl or growl or gravel; everything he said was dull.

"Want to read it?" Narcissa had offered, holding out the yellowed piece of parchment.

Draco had felt a burning heat in his arm, aching to snatch it from her. That run down old parchment—Harry refused to buy the more expensive, paler, smoother sheets.

But he had forced the heat down, and didn't extend his hand to take the letter.

"You think you're just going to cut him out of your memory—well I'm not going to let him go down without a fight. You go ahead and try to pretend like you never heard his name; I plan on making it plenty difficult on you." Narcissa had snarled, and jammed the letter into his breast pocket.

His iron will was turned to the consistency of pudding in light of this temptation and, alone in his room last night, he had slowly unfolded Harry's letter.

He ran his fingertips over the bold, no-nonsense handwriting, totally without elegance or finery before he read the words themselves.

He touched Harry's boyish signature, relatively unchanged since first year.

Harry wrote:

_Mrs. Malfoy:_

_I'm sorry for leaving on such short notice yesterday, and without saying 'thank you' for all your wonderful hospitality. Unfortunately, I also left on such short notice that I forgot my trunk and my owl. Could you maybe send them to me? I'd be really grateful. _

_I don't think my friends will believe how nice you are, so maybe I'll keep that our little secret and you can keep your reputation as a truly terrifying woman. They'd probably just think that you'd brainwashed me, anyways. I don't know when I'll see you again, so I'll be mushy and say that it really meant a lot to me how you welcomed me into your home and made me feel like part of the family. Well, I don't know what else to tell you, so I'll end it there. _

_Thanks-- for everything,_

_Harry _

Draco twisted his mouth around on his face and fingered his ring dangling from his neck.

The Gryffindor wanted his things back, did he? Well, Draco would give him that and more! Wouldn't the brunette just die when he opened up an envelope to see that ring loose at the bottom?

Draco's hand tightened on his ring, and the fiery anger dissipated within him.

He wouldn't send Harry his ring back, he decided glumly—no matter what grand sort of comeuppance that would be. Instead he decided that he would take out Harry's SexyPants from his trunk and cut them into tiny slices and put them in a large envelope that said CHEATER.

Unfortunately, Harry's trunk was already gone from his closet (damn his mother), so he stood staring at the blank area of floor not covered with shoes that Harry's trunk used to occupy.

He overcame the urge to lie in its empty space, and ran to his bed instead, shimmying underneath the dark frame and grappling around until he felt soft cotton instead of wood.

Harry's black Ramones T-shirt.

He had turned his self-criticizing brain off for long enough to steal the shirt out of Harry's trunk right before school let out for summer last year. It had been odd times. He and Harry never talked about anything important then, so it had been unclear if their sex-buddy relationship would cross over into the next school year. It had been unclear if they would make a point to meet up or even write each other over the summer.

So while Harry was showering after a particularly ardent romp in the Gryffindor tower, Draco went deaf to his inner ego screaming at him to be reasonable and not a Hufflepuff, and stole Harry's T-shirt.

If Harry noticed its missing, he never mentioned it. They didn't end up writing to each other over summer (Draco wasn't surprised, they hardly talked even when they were together, so why would they talk when they were apart?). But when this fact felt especially harsh, and when he felt on the verge of breaking down and writing the brunette, he put on his pyjama bottoms and slipped on the soft, faded T-shirt and closed his eyes. It had at least helped, although he thought back on it with part embarrassment, part longing as soon as he took it off.

He stripped down and put the shirt on now. He laid down on his bed, and divided his time between resting with his eyes closed, stroking the soft fabric, and rereading Harry's letter over and over again.

He touched the signature again, and suddenly remembered a song Harry had grudgingly sung to him when they were reunited after the long summer months.  
"I'll feel stupid singing it to you," Harry had groaned.

"I don't care. You said it was stuck in your head all summer, and I want to hear it. Is it about me? Did you write it?"

"No, I don't write songs, especially for bratty little blondes." Harry had said, but sung it anyway.

Although Draco hadn't heard the song again since then, he was sure that he could remember every word.

He suddenly slapped his hands over his head.

"No way am I going to sing that!" he cried. But of course, he would, because it's a very good song, and fitting with this particular plot point.

"Oh, fine. One stanza," he grumbled. He took a deep breath. He took another. His hand slipped on his grip on Harry's letter and he gave himself a paper cut for all his procrastinating.

"Okay, okay—I'm going!

_Seems like to me the sky ain't half so blue,  
Seems like to me that everything wants you,  
Seems like to me I don't know what to do,  
Since you went away._

"There," he grumbled, pouting. Thank you.

The blonde sighed, embarrassed despite being the only one in the room. Stupid Harry, singing him that song and getting it into his head.

He grabbed the offending letter and was about to throw it away before his heart went out of the movement, and he shoved it into the nightstand instead.

Which was where he had found Harry's _Quidditch Through the Ages_.

Draco couldn't stop himself before he smiled and the worn cover and he eased it carefully from the drawer, moving his hand reverently over the title. He cracked it open to see Harry's young signature:

_Property of Harry J. Potter_

Draco assumed that the signature had changed somewhat since the brunette had received this book. Draco had flipped through the pages, watching the Quidditch players demonstrating strategic plays or flying techniques.

Harry's bookmark—or what he was apparently using as a bookmark, since the boy saw no sense in buying a scrap of paper to stick between pages—was halfway through the book.

It was a picture of him and Draco.

"Oh, damn you! What are you trying to do to me?!" Draco cried, slamming the book shut on the photo (he thought he heard a few faint 'Owe's from the photos--impossible).

Yet his resistance was futile. He sighed desperately and looked at the book, building up his courage to see Harry again.

He slowly pushed away the heavy cover. He moved the pages softly away from the picture, and moved it so it wasn't on its side.

He couldn't help but smile.

The picture was taken very close up—he could tell that Harry was leaned back on something, and thought that they were outside to it might be a tree or a bench or something. Draco was tucked under his arm, head pressed against Harry's dark, summer-time throat. They both smiled and waved teasingly at him, as if part of a club he didn't belong to and goading him from the window of the locked clubhouse.

"My God, were we really that happy?" he whispered, and allowed himself to stare for a few more minutes before getting redressed and going down for a dinner that he would probably add to his list of things left uneaten.

X

All that was last night. It seemed as if it had lasted two days.

"_And everything is wrong…the day seems twice as long_," he sang in a whisper, and forced himself to get himself dressed, wearing Harry's T-shirt under his robes.

Draco didn't have a plan for how he would live the next few days before school started again; before he saw Harry again in the flesh.

He assumed that he would continue to force himself to do these necessary things—eating, sleeping, brushing his hair. Maybe, if his father was correct and not just lying out his arse, it would get easier. Maybe, eventually, he wouldn't have to force himself to do these things. Maybe he would become himself again—no, he could never be _himself _again. Somehow, over the months that felt like years, Harry had merged with his self. But, maybe he would be able to carry on a while longer with half of himself gone.

In the meantime, he would join his father in the study, and force himself to not think about sitting on the edge of that desk in the wee hours of Christmas morning and receiving the emblem of his happiness in a tiny, velvet box.

x Not-So-Poor Harry x

Harry awoke an hour earlier than he had wanted to to the sound of snoring.

"Shut the fuck up, Ron," he grumbled, hitting the redhead with a pillow before trying to get another hour of sleep in. His friend wasn't even fazed.

The snores continued.

Loudly.

Harry groaned and pulled his legs out of his sleeping bed, not bothering to dress, but bundling up over his pajamas—scarf, cloak, mittens, wool socks. He had to admit that it felt rather odd waking up with his pajamas still on—Draco had developed a knack for silently ridding of him of his clothes during the night.

Draco.

Harry sighed and pulled on a pair of snow boots he found at the back door, pulling on a furry Fargo hat from the hat rack and pulling his Gryffindor scarf up over his nose before heading outside.

As he trudged slowly around the Burrow and the surrounding fields, he let his thoughts do what they would.

He was surprised that they went to Quidditch.

_Come on, don't you have something more important to think over? _He questioned, pleadingly. But apparently he didn't, because his thoughts continued on the track of Quidditch. He was captain now—he would have to make sure once school started up that his team was in order. They would be playing Ravenclaw at the end of January—he wondered who Draco would root for. This was the first match during their relationship, not counting the Slytherin match earlier in the year (Draco had been too busy trying to beat him to root for him).

_Good, good! Stay on this! _Harry thought, but his mind was already gone to the next subject: who did he have to rescue from the Dark Lord to get some decent novelty foods at the matches? Would it kill them to offer some roasted almonds or something? Maybe he wouldn't be in the stands during the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match, but he'd be in the stands eventually, and some Ice Mice vendors would be much appreciated. Maybe some hot chocolate.

Harry was trying his best, but he was obviously not cut out to be reflective and melodramatic (well…). His appetite was very much the same, and although he really did try to push his food around morosely on his plate, this was Molly Weasley's cooking. You couldn't _not_ eat it.

He tried to toss and turn all night without relief, but in actuality he was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, and only particularly violent snores from Ron could break him from his sleep.

He struggled to have eerie, prophetic or symbolic dreams—instead he ended up dreaming about being captain of a jolly pirate ship that sailed on rainbows.

What the fuck.

Now, here he was trying his hardest to walk contemplatively across the foggy, icy fields, thinking only of his one true love lost so young, and all that his mind would focus on was roasted almonds and Ice Mice.

Seeing that it was no use, he trudged back inside and sat by the fire as Mrs. Weasley got the kitchen going for breakfast.

"Harry, dear, are you all right? I thought I saw you morosely traversing the foggy moors."

"I was trying to, but my heart wasn't in it. I'm just too chipper. Despite everything, I feel completely un-depressed." Harry admitted glumly.

"Oh, darling, I'm sorry. Have you tried focusing on the dull ache in your chest where your stalwart love used to be?"

"Yeah, but I don't feel any dull ache. It feels just the same as before."

"Hm…well, have you tried going over all of the horrible things Draco's done to you during the last week?"

"Actually, I tried that, like you said to last night and…I burst out laughing." Harry said, voice soft with terror.

"Oh my, I'll get us a pot of tea, this might take a minute."

She returned a minute later with two mugs and a tea kettle, pulling a chair close to Harry.

"All right," she said. "So what, exactly, happened?"

"Well, I was sitting on Ron's bed trying to think of every low-down, dirty, rotten thing he did to me while I was there, and all I could come up with, for some reason, was when he accused me of cheating on him with Blaise."

"And then you laughed?"

"I busted up. I couldn't help it!"

"Well…why did you find it so funny? You were absolutely livid over it two days ago."

"I know but…looking back on it, it's just _such_ a Draco thing to do. I mean, he's such a braggart, and he's got such a swagger to him, you'd think that it's never even crossed his mind that someone could even think to cheat on someone as gorgeous as him. Yet I _sit_ in the garden with _his_ friend, and he's blows a fuse! It's so contradictory, but it's so absolutely _him_. I thought I was going to give myself a hernia, laughing so hard."

"You're not…_upset_ with him anymore?"

"I _want_ to be, _believe_ me, but every time I think about I laugh! I don't know what to do! I've been trying—really, I have—to make myself realize that I'm miserable, but I refuse to!"

"Well…it's no use forcing it. You'll just have to become miserable in your own time. Here, in the meantime how about you let me make you some French toast?"

XXX

"How's Harry?" Hermoine asked her boyfriend after breakfast.

"He's holding up eerily fine." Ron grumbled. "Which is completely unfair. I'm his best friend! It's my job to be there for him in moments like this—and he's refusing to have a moment!"

"He's probably in denial." Hermoine sighed.

"He's just smart," Ginny said smugly, embroidering a pillow with something that was starting to look a lot like a lightning bolt. Mrs. Weasley had suggested it to get Ginny's mind off…other things. It had yet to start working. "Of _course_ he's not miserable! He just got loose from that snotty Slytherin! Harry's _rejoicing_!"

"I don't know if _rejoicing_ is the word." Ron said, eyeing his sister carefully. This conversation seemed to bring her to new heights of frightening ardor. "I don't like to admit it out loud, but Harry and Draco were actually pretty good together, and Harry does seem to miss him, although he's still too angry to say so."

"Amen," Hermoine sighed. "I mean, Draco was a bit prideful—"

"Understatement," George coughed as he passed through the room.

"Of the year," coughed Fred, following his twin.

"Anyway," Hermoine growled. "He _was_ prideful, but having Harry dote on him every moment reduced his need to brag to everyone else. And Draco went a long way towards building up Harry's self esteem."

"My _God_ did he," Ron exclaimed. "The difference in Harry between the end of last year and the start of this one! I hadn't realized how comfortable Harry was getting in himself until he came back from being worn down all summer and Draco had to start from scratch all over again!"

"Oh puh-_leeze_, they fought all the time!" Ginny growled.

"They always made up." Ron pointed out.

"Very loudly." Hermoine added.

"Being in love means never fighting." Ginny said haughtily.

"_Holy fuck—what world are you from_?!" Hermoine screamed accidentally.  
"Er…_okay_…anyway, what I'm saying is, yeah, maybe Malfoy wasn't my favorite ferret in the world—but that doesn't mean I wanted Harry and him to break up!"

"Who broke up?" Harry asked, passing through to the kitchen.

"Er—Ginny and Neville!" Ron spat out.

Harry spun on his heel quizzically.

"Ginny and _Neville_? I didn't even know you two were dating."

"We're not!" Ginny replied hotly.

"Not _anymore_," Ron said. "Just wasn't working out. Sorry I didn't tell you sooner, Harry. It was a very brief affair."

"That's fine, but, God, Ginny—slow down! You don't want your whole graduating class to be made up of ex-boyfriends!" Harry chided, and went back to getting himself some milk.

He wasn't there for Ginny trying to suffocate her brother with her lightning bolt pillow.

There was a knock at the door, prompting Hermoine to jump from her chair with a frantic, "I'll get it!" _Anything_ to get out of that fratricidal episode.

Ron managed to pull himself away from his sister in time for Hermoine pulling the door open.

He stopped in his tracks, jaw rattling against the floorboards when it hit.

"Is Harry available?" a sultry voice asked.

XXXXX

Hum diddy hum. Yes, Harry's still pissed, but only because he knows he's supposed to be. Just because he's crazy enough to laugh when he thinks about Draco being a prick doesn't mean all is forgiven. It just means Harry's going to struggle to keep a straight face when he demands a heart-felt apology from Blondie. Not that that's going to happen, necessarily…

What do you think of my stupid plot?!

If you haven't been paying attention to my lies, I'm not going to have this finished by tomorrow at midnight. Maybe next week by midnight? Who knows? Sorry!

Also, Draco's sappy song is "Since You Went Away" by Kris Delmhorst. If I'm not allowed to have lyrics up, tell me! I don't know. I don't want to get kicked off three chapters from the finale.


	34. Bold Harry, Bold Draco

x Bold Harry x

Hermoine went through a number of unfeasible plots to rid the doorstep of Blaise Zabini in increasingly bloody ways before she unstuck her mouth from the scowl it was set in.

"I'll get him. It could be a minute. He's still in his pajamas," she sighed, but it sounded more like a growl.

"You can wait out there." Ron said crankily, but when Hermoine grudgingly nudged his rib with her elbow he added "or..uh…in the living room, I guess."

Blaise looked past Ron to the living room—thick with old, comfortable couches, Crookshanks, and huge throw pillows that always smelt faintly of curry for some reason.

"I think I'll wait out here." Blaise said, his voice and face sour despite his good breeding.

Hermoine pulled Ron back mid-lunge, and slammed the door shut on Blaise.

"Ohhhh I hate that little rat bastard!" Ron snarled.

"Believe me, I don't like him any better—and I _especially_ don't like him visiting Harry so often."

"You don't think Blaise is going to be Harry's rebound boy do you?" Ron asked, aghast.

"I hope not. At least Harry could keep Draco from misbehaving—with Blaise Harry can't even _tell_ when he's misbehaving!"

"Let's not tell Harry he's here. Maybe the punk will give up if I set the twins on him."

"Set us on who?" the twins asked in unison, walking up to their room.

"Blaise Zabini's here to see Harry—_again_." Hermoine said.

"Ohhh, let's get him! Me 'n George have got this great exploding tea we've been dying to try out on a human subject."

"We've pretty much stopped it from shattering the tea cup—but there's always a chance."

"_There's_ a boy I'd like to see with twenty chips of porcelain lodged in his face." Fred said fiendishly.

"_Neither_ of you will do anything of the sort." Hermoine chided. "Although if you were to hit him with some of your water balloons while I was fetching Harry, there would be nothing I could do about it."

She left the room in search of Harry, and the three boys sprinted up to the twin's room to get the balloons.

"What'd happen if we filled the balloons with exploding tea?" Ron asked.

"Inquisitive mind—let's humor the boy, Fred. For educational purposes, of course."

"But of course."

X

Hermoine found Harry in the kitchen, staring out the window and swilling a glass of milk.

"Harry, Blaise is here to see you—_again_." Hermoine said.

"Oh, excellent!" exclaimed Harry, chugging the rest of his milk and putting his glass in the sink. Hermoine stopped him before he could leave the kitchen.

"Harry, wasn't Blaise just over here yesterday?"

"Huh? Oh, well, yeah—but that was just because he heard about me and Draco and he wanted to make sure I was doing okay."

"Because you're friends."

"Right."

"And he's over here today because…?"

"Well, his mom used to collect Muggle stuff, and she has a guitar, but she's cleaning out the basement and tossing everything, so Blaise is letting me hold onto the guitar to make sure it doesn't get chucked."

"…He's giving you a guitar?"

"No…er, well…I mean, I guess so…"

"And you don't find that…_odd_? A boy you've known for a week coming all the way over here to give you presents?"

"It's not a present! What are you trying to say, anyway?!" Harry asked angrily.

"Harry, I'm not accusing you of anyth—"

"Well it certainly sounds that way!"

"Harry!" the girl nearly shouted, cutting of the beginning of one of Harry's notorious temperamental tirades. "Calm down for one second and think about what this looks like!"

Harry looked taken aback, but did as he was told, with Hermoine's help: "He's always inviting you over to his place even though he knows Draco doesn't like it; he comes all this way the day after you and Draco break up instead of just writing you; then the next day he's over here bright and early to give you an expensive guitar, even though the first day of school is on Monday. What does that look like to you?"

"So now you're taking sides with Draco? For God's sake, Blaise is _his_ friend! How could he think _not only_ that _his_ friend would betray him, but that I would too?!"

"Why do you think Blaise is his friend?"

"What?" Harry stopped short in his temper tantrum.

"Draco's never said anything to _me_ about being friends with Blaise. The only thing he's ever told me about Zabini at all was that he was always trying to pressure Draco for sex before he got together with you."

"_WHAT_?! When did you guys talk about this?"

"During a Quidditch match. I asked if it was weird now that the whole school knew about you and him, and he said that he liked it because Blaise had stopped pestering him for sex."

"Since when do you sit in the Slytherin section?" Harry asked, mind spinning. Blaise had never mentioned anything about _that_. He had always just said that he and Draco had been very good friends growing up, but Draco never spent any time with the Slytherins anymore—that Draco was the kind of person who could do that: cut you out and never think about you again.

"I don't sit with Slytherins. Draco came and sat with us—during the Hufflepuff match."

"I asked him if he was going to that match and he said that he had extra credit to do with Snape!"

"Oh, please, Harry—_as if_ Snape gives out extra credit!"

"Ugh, even when it's about something as stupid as that he lies to me!" Harry growled.

"Don't be so melodramatic. So he didn't want you to know that he rooted for you—that's his right. You really did tease him dreadfully over Quidditch."

"What do you mean?"

"You were always asking him if he was going to be a good little girlfriend and cheer for you!"

"I was only joking!"

"Well you never stuck around long enough to see him blush scarlet afterwards, or hear everyone picking at him. He polyjuiced himself into Tony Churpin to see that game!"

"I…well…no one ever told me." Harry grumbled. "And _since when_ have you and Draco been such bosom buddies?"

"Don't you take that tone with _me_, Harry James Potter! Draco and I happen to be very close, and he's been writing me the same as you to say what a brute you've been to him!"

"Oh please!"

"I know, and he knows, too, that he hasn't been very nice to you—but telling his father to shut up?! In his own house?!"

"He deserved it! He's a meddler!"

"Well if I saw someone treating my son like that I'd meddle, too!" Hermoine shouted, but was cut off from continuing by a harsh knock on the back door.

"Harry—tell the twins to stop throwing things at me! Are you dressed yet?" Blaise called through the door.

"Why is he asking if I'm dressed?"

"I told him you were still in your pj's to buy some time." Hermoine sighed.

"Hermoine!"

"Oh get out of here. But keep in mind that I've always done my best to give you good advice, Harry. I'd never tell you that Blaise is a conniving little brat who wants in your SexyPants if I didn't think it was true."

"Thanks," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes before heading out to save Blaise from the twins.

X dramatic pause X

Harry was trying to be a good host and listen to Blaise complaining about the cleaning binge his mother was on right now. Apparently she had decided to marry the Spell-O-Tape man, and was going to move to Morocco with him. She was enlisting both Blaise and the sole house-elf to help overhaul the house of everything "unnecessary," which seemed to include everything in the basement and half the house.

Harry tried to be interested in this.

But he couldn't.

_So I was rude to his father once. His father was rude to me the whole time!_

_But that was pretty disrespectful. And hypocritical, too, seeing as how I drove Draco to wet dreams because I didn't want to disrespect Lucius by having sex in the Manor. _

Although Harry was now able to think of Draco, he was incapable of being miserable.

He tried to focus on the dull ache of his missing love, but there was no dull ache. He felt happy to be with his friends. He felt happy that he would be at Hogwarts again soon.

But he did miss the blonde. How could you miss someone you were so angry at? And Harry _was_ still angry. Just because he couldn't come up with a proper scowl didn't mean he wasn't mad.

It was just that…compared to two years ago, what Draco said wasn't that bad.

In fact, Harry couldn't help but feel that Draco's final monologue was pretty factual. Harry _didn't_ understand why Draco went along with everything his father said, and that very well could be because Harry had never really had a father to be that loyal to. Harry _did_ have a saving-people-thing, and 5th year _had_ proven that, and part of Blaise's charm _was_ that he was so vulnerable; and Harry _didn't_ know anything about being an aristocrat. He didn't need Draco to tell him any of that.

And frankly, when you compared that to the Draco of old, wishing that Harry had died along with his parents, talking about his Mudblood mother, saying that Cedric had gotten what he deserved, well…their fight could have been a lot worse.

Harry knew Draco—Draco had wanted to hurt him because he felt hurt. Draco's anger was a thing of retribution and revenge. In Draco's mind Harry had cheated on him, and he was going to make Harry pay.

But how could Draco ever think he would cheat on him?

_Here_ his anger bubbled up—_this_ was what made him angry. After all he had been through with Draco, after all they had overcome, after how many times Harry told him he loved him and would always be there for him and fucking proposed to him—Draco thought he was the kind of person who would betray all of that and cheat on him with his friend!

Harry grit his teeth and shoved his fists into his pants pockets.

What was that?"

He pulled Draco's smooth white paper out of his pocket—it had been folded like a crane. He couldn't help but smile, and unfolded it without even having to overcome an urge to rip it to shreds.

When had Draco slipped this into his pocket? It must have been a while ago—he hadn't worn these pants in days.

_Dearest, darlingest Sex Machine,_

_I'm watching you sleep right now, and you know what that does to me. I'm going to put this in writing so you know it's true: I'm not biased, you are absolutely gorgeous. I have to write this letter to keep my fingers busy or else they'd wake you by playing with that mop of black hair of yours. Don't cut it all off like you've been saying—I'd be bereft without it._

_I feel, lately, like I've been having memory lapses—I'm always forgetting how much you mean to mean, and how good you are, and how I would do anything for you. Please show me this letter whenever you feel I'm being forgetful, I feel as if it would be the solution to all our problems._

_You are everything to me. I love my family, but I consider you part of my family. I'm so glad you're marrying me so that we will be officially inseparable, but I've felt inseparable from you ever since September—maybe even before that. It's so hard to pinpoint the exact moment that you became an integral part of me, and as key to my continued survival as my lungs. Or maybe you think that's going too far. As important to me as my wand arm, maybe? Well, pick a body part that doesn't make you uncomfortable, and you're as integral to me as that._

_I love you, I love you, I'll always love you,_

_Yours ever,_

_Draco Potter_

_(I'm not being coy,_

_I get chills every time I think this name in my head_

_—which has been frequently—_

_and I can't wait for the first person to address me as such)_

"Harry—Harry are you paying attention to me?" Blaise cried petulantly.

Harry looked the letter over again before answering. He had forgotten how gorgeous Draco's handwriting was—nothing like his, or anything else he had seen on a seventeen year old boy.

"Did you use to have a thing for Draco?" Harry questioned, and Blaise looked shocked.

"Wh—what?"

"You did, didn't you? He never told me about it, I think because he knew I'm territorial enough to physically hurt you over it, but he mentioned it to Hermoine."

"Well…yes, when we were young I was very attached to him. But he happily broke me of that. I won't say that I was happy about him rejecting me at the time, but seeing his behavior to you and to his other friends, I'm quite glad of it now." Blaise said rather nervously.

"I was just thinking…well, this must be a great joy to you—instead of being with him at the Manor, here I am taking a long walk with you."

"Being with you always makes me happy, Harry." Blaise said, touching his arm softly, but Harry quickly extricated his limb. He wouldn't have noticed it earlier, but with Hermoine's warning ringing in his ears, the touch felt too personal, the look in Blaise's eyes too intense for friendship.

"I think you should take the guitar back." Harry murmured.

"Harry—it's a gift!"

"That's the thing—I don't think you should be giving me gifts like that."

"I'm sorry. I'm only trying to be your friend."

"I don't mind you being my friend, Blaise, but not even my best friends get as friendly as you."

"I guess I'm not very good at it. Draco's been my only friend since I was young. I'm sorry." Blaise said softly, and Harry thought there was something calculated in his demure glance away and the vulnerable set of his shoulders.

"What about the other Slytherins?"

"Oh, you know what they're like."

"Blaise—_you're_ a Slytherin. _You're_ like what _they're_ like."

"_Harry_! I'm not like _them_—like Parkinson and Montegue and the rest! You've been hanging out with me for _hours_ for over a _week_ now! _Surely_ you know what I'm like!"

"That's the thing. I thought I did. But I hear from Draco, and I hear from Hermoine, and everyone seems to think something new of you and your character—so how do I explain that? Either they're lying or you're a damn good actor."

Harry thought he saw a flash of something terrible in Blaise's eyes, but it was gone too quickly to tell.

"Well—which do you think it is, Harry? Do you think I just go around pretending to be who I am for every new acquaintance, or do you think Hermoine and Draco stand something to gain by making you think I'm the demonic offspring of Salazar himself?"

"Nobody's saying that."

"I know that Hermoine prefers Draco—they're both overachievers, they stick together. I know that Draco's jealous of you being happy when you're with me and miserable when you're with him. Don't you see? He wants you to hate me as much as you hate him! He doesn't want us to be happy!"

"I don't hate Draco!" Harry snarled.

"What? Oh, I didn't mean—"

"Don't backpedal now! You were just starting to be clear! You think that Draco is jealous of you spending time with me? I spend every night with him! You think he's mad at you for making me happy—he makes me happier in a day than you could in a lifetime!"

"Harry! Are you out of your head?! He accused you of _cheating_!"

"And why not? He knew your character better than I did—he had every right to be nervous over me spending so much time with you! Let's face it, I'm not the best at knowing when someone's trying to get into my pants. Draco wasn't accusing me of being vile enough to sleep with you, he was accusing me of being stupid enough to fall for your act, and his accusations were perfectly founded!"

"You're insane! Are you really going to forget everything he did to you this past week?" Blaise snarled, eyes flashing.

"Oh you sinister, backbiting git! I forgot five years of him doing a lot worse—do you really think I'm going to throw away a lifetime of happiness with him over a week of Slytherin-inspired difficulties?!" Harry shouted, turning back to the house. He was stopped by a small but painful hand on his arm.

"_Don't you dare!_" a low, wild voice snarled at him. "Don't you dare go running back to him and make this whole thing fall down on _my_ half!"

Harry turned to the brunette slowly, looking at those crazed, demonic eyes and white teeth exposed in a dog's snarl.

"I'm going to make this thing fall down on _both_ your heads," he said softly, and shoved Blaise back hard enough to topple the boy over before Apparating.

* * *

x Bold Draco x

Ugh, it was only ten in the morning and he already felt exhausted.

He slumped back in his chair as his father droned on about Important Family Business. The man was smart enough not to expend useless words trying in vain to get Draco to sit up straight. By the looks of it, Lucius was lucky enough that Draco had even gotten out of bed without Lucius trying to get him to sit appropriately on top of that.

Lucius wasn't feeling much better. That had marked night three sleeping in the guest room, and he was sure it was haunted by something scary. He hadn't slept hardly two winks strung together the whole night due to chain rattling and hot breaths wheezing over his hair. Simply terrifying. He was definitely _not_ sleeping there again.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, your picture's in the paper. From that ball. Front page! It's yesterday's Prophet, but I just haven't had time lately to keep up with the press." Lucius handed it over, hoping to inspire some kind of emotion in the boy, but his son only extended his limp hand and took the paper slowly, glancing at his photo.

"Why'd you cut Harry out?"

"I—well…I thought you wouldn't want to…" Lucius wasn't sure what he was trying to say, so he stopped while he was ahead.

Draco watched himself pout on the cover next to a missing rectangle. He looked lonely without his photo-mate. He thought this photo was the single most depressing thing he had seen in the last two days.

His father continued talking on about the ball, and Draco continued to tune him out.

He couldn't help but admit it: he missed Harry. Desperately. Every other moment he tortured himself by imagining what Harry was doing at that precise point in time. Was he just over the hill at Blaise's house? Was he throwing himself into danger with the Order? Was he sipping hot chocolate with Ron and Hermoine, glad to be rid of his evil fiancé?

Draco glanced back at the paper, at himself all spruced up and miserable. He hazarded a weak smile, thinking that he did look Emo, just as Harry had playfully accused.

To think that this whole fight had started over a ball. Or had it? It felt like it—a ball and everything that came with it: Harry being too plebian, and Draco being too demanding. Draco showing off his new pet.

Oh, but that wasn't what he was doing! Sure he wanted people to see him and Harry together, but not to prove that he had trained Harry to be a well-behaved little boyfriend!

He had received a slew of hate mail after their relationship was made public. Harry had helped burn it all and they had cuddled up in front of the fire watching them catch fire—Howlers and all. Harry hadn't known that he'd kept one of the letters.

_I just feel sorry fer poor Harry. _Margaret Linton had written. _How kud You do this to him wen he's all ready been thru So Mutch? Im shur Harry dusn't no what he's doing. Im shur Your going to make him Verry Unhappy. _

He wanted to prove women like that wrong with every ball—with every photo proving just how happy with him Harry was. The problem was that by forcing Harry to take photos showing how happy he was, he made Harry Verry Unhappy. It was such an unfair catch-22.

He wouldn't pretend like he didn't enjoy balls for his own pleasure, too. He certainly didn't want to have to give them up for the rest of his life just because Harry didn't always enjoy them. Oh, but even now the thought of a ball did nothing for him. How could he enjoy himself at a ball at a time like this—so bereft for his lover?

Africa felt much the same. Sure he had wanted to go, and that would mean leaving Harry for a while, but he had always had this divine picture of his homecoming—Harry running to greet him at the Portkey in full Auror regalia, sweeping up his desert-tanned body and exploring every inch of him for changes from when they'd last seen each other. Without this homecoming fantasy, Africa held very little to interest him. Sure he'd see lions and giraffes—but who would he write to? Who would be waiting for him in England, exalting over every new letter and writing him back diligently?

No, it just wasn't the same without Harry. Nothing was the same.

In this small lull in his racing thoughts, Draco's body suddenly tensed.

Draco sat up in confusion—why was his body doing this? Had he missed something? He tuned back into his father's conversation, trying to figure it out.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say?" Draco asked, trying to pull his fingers out of their death grip on the chair.

"Draco—pay attention! Now, where was I, oh, yes—so I was thinking perhaps June or July, after your birthday. Get this whole thing done with."

"I'm sorry—I'm really going to have to ask you to go back a few sentences. Just rewind."

"Rewind? What does that mean?"

"It's a Muggle phrase, it means go back a little bit and repeat what you just said."

"I do not approve of you using Muggle phrases! What's gotten into you?"

"I don't know—go back a bit and maybe I'll figure it out."

"The part about Parkinson?"

"What about Parkinson?"

"Ugh—I was saying that I talked to her father, and you two are engaged again, now that that whole Potter thing is over with."

"_WHAT_?!" Draco screamed, jumping up.

"Draco! Sit back down! What's gotten into you?!"

"Why did you engage me to Parkinson again?!"

"Well, why not, since you and Potter are broken up? Best to get everything back on track again, back to how it used to be."

Lucius was too sleep deprived to see the fire ignite Draco's icy eyes, but he did hear it in the boy's voice when he said: "We. Are. Not. Broken. Up."

"Excuse me?"

"Harry and I are _not broken up_! Don't you _dare_ say that we are!"

"Well I may be behind the times, but in our day when you and your lover got in a blowout fight and said lover disappeared for days without a word being heard from him—that meant you were broken up!"

"We're just…taking…a break." Draco said tersely.

"An indefinite hiatus! Also known as a break up!"

"Shut up! _Silencio_!"

Lucius' eyes got as wide as dinner plates as his mouth worked flagrant cursing, but nothing came out. He went for his wand.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Draco cried, and added, when Lucius lunged across the desk at him, "_Levicorpus_!"

Lucius had one shocked moment before he was dragged into the air by his ankle, holding his robes down as best he could, but still showing an awful lot of pale leg.

"Maybe now you'll listen," Draco said, his voice soft with anger. "Harry and I are _not_ broken up. Harry _promised_ me that he would _always_ be here for me. Harry would _never_ break up with me—he _loves_ me and he's going to _marry_ me—see?!" Draco dragged his ring out from under his shirt and shoved it close to his father's reddening face. "He knew that I had an evil father and a vengeful mother and fifty generations of Dark wizards, and he asked me to marry him anyways—right in this room! You think he's not right for me because he's mouthy and not especially well bred—but I think it's _you_ who's not right for me, because I had a great boyfriend who worshiped the ground I walked on and friggen _adored_ me and _you broke us up_!"

Draco hadn't expected that to come out of his mouth, but he knew as soon as he said it that it was true.

"_You broke us up!_ You forced me back into my old Malfoy mold on purpose because you knew Harry hated it! You let me go to that ball just because you knew Harry wouldn't want to! You've been a prick to him this whole time because you knew it would wear him down enough to leave me! _You little shit_!" Draco shouted, and, in an act of physical violence heretofore unheard of from the usually verbal battler, he shook his father hard by the lapels.

"When we have kids I'm going to have them refer to you as Gramps McEvilFace, you bastard!" Draco screamed as he left the complex at a run.

"Draco—where are you going?" Narcissa called from the garden.

"Dad's an evil prick and I'm going get Harry back!"

"Okay, well, owl me if you're not going to be back in time for dinner."

Once her son was safely away from the incoming carnage, Narcissa calmly put her gardening tools away and walked slowly to her husband's study, closing the door firmly behind her and spelling it locked.

Lucius stopped struggling to pull himself down by the desk edge, and stared at her with terrified, wide eyes.

"Let's have some fun," she said in a sinisterly soft voice, and ran her fingers lovingly over her wand.

Lucius' face managed to blanche despite all the blood rushing to his head.

* * *

i totally just learned how to use that thing.

XXXXXX

A/N: Comeuppance coming right up—next weekend at the latest. I'm trying really hard to get this sucker done with so you'll all stop threatening to murder me!

Hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I did!


	35. Approval

Draco tried not to fidget on the Weasley's doorstep as he rang the doorbell. All he really wanted to do was burst through the door and throw himself into Harry's lap (wherever that might be) and beg and plead for forgiveness.

"Hullo, there! You're not Blaise back for another go, are you? Because we've still got some balloons left!" came a menacing voice from above.

Draco stepped back off the doorstep and shielded his eyes from the sun to see Fred (or was it George?) leaning out the 2nd storey window.

"Twin A? Is that you?"

"It's Blondie!" the twin shouted happily to whoever was behind him, and voices echoed his animation. In the next moment the door was swept open and Draco was dragged into four coinciding embraces.

"Blondie! You're here to save the day!"

"Draco! Oh—thank Merlin!"

"Draco—what took you so long?!"

The blonde pulled himself away from the multitude of arms to see nearly nearly half the Weasley clan, plus honorary Weasley, Hermione.

"Where's Harry? Why did you ask me about Blaise? Was Blaise here?"

"He's still here," whispered Hermione.

"He's talking to Harry out back." Ron explained.

"What?!"

But before Draco could storm onto the back lawn, Ginny Weasley scrambled and slid down the stairs screaming, "Harry just shoved Zabini flat on his arse and Apparated away!"

"What?!" every shouted in chorus.

"He was on his way back to the house and Zabini grabbed him and he shoved Zabini and then he Apparted aw—what the fuck is Draco fucking Malfoy doing here?!"

Draco clenched his fists to keep himself from strangling the young girl.

"He's here to save the day!"

"Malfoy to the rescue!" Fred and George did an intricate, happy little two step around Hermione.

"How's he going to save the day with the damsel run off?" Hermione groaned.

"How come Harry's the damsel? Why can't Draco be the damsel?" Ron sulked.

"Hold on, hold on. Let me get this straight. Everything I did to Harry (and I'm assuming that you know), and you're all _happy_ to see me?" Draco asked in shock.

"I'm not." Ginny grumbled, but her voice was mostly overwhelmed with everyone else's resounding, "Yep!"

"But—I—but you guys hated me!"

"You got that right." Ginny muttered.

"Hate you? Oh, you poor, confused little soul." George sighed, throwing a heavy arm over Draco's shoulders.

"Perhaps, in your younger, more ignorant years, you were our least favorite person," Fred started.

"But many a thing has changed since those dark times!" finished George.

"Draco, you're still more of a prick than I like in people I have to hang out with every day, but Harry loves you to freaking death." Ron stated.

"We can't love Harry and hate you." Hermione reasoned.

"I can," said Ginny hotly.

"Oh shut up, Ginny!" Hermione responded. The redhead only pouted more pronouncedly, her bottom lip nearly breaking free of her mouth.

"Why the hell didn't you all tell me this before?! I'd have been a lot nice if I had known that you didn't hate me!"

"Puh-leeze! What are we, Hufflepuffs?"

"We're still men."

"We don't' talk about…_feelings_."

"Well I'm not an idiot, so you knew already that I didn't hate you." Hermione sniffed.

"Well, since we're men and we're never going to talk about this ever again, nor will any of it be repeated outside of this room…I didn't dislike you guys because you're poor. Most people are poorer than me. I was mostly mean to you because…oh god…becauseIwasjealous." When this wasn't met with sniggers, Draco hesitantly went on. "I always thought that one word from you guys and Harry would drop me faster than a Troll and soap. I just didn't like having that over my head all the time."

"Now might be a good time to tell you that I did tell Harry to drop you faster than a Troll with soap. He told me to shove it, so I never brought it up again." Ron admitted flatly.

"Oh…well, then…I guess I'm an idiot."

"Amen," muttered Ginny.

"One more word out of you and I'm going to skin you like a rabbit!" Draco growled.

"Are you going to let him talk to me like that?!" Ginny screeched to her brothers.

"Well, you are being pretty bitchy." George informed her.

"I personally like him better. He's friggen adorable," said Fred.

"Are you going to sit around here all day while the love of your life is who knows where, pining after you like nobody's business or are you going to get something done about it anytime soon?" Mrs. Weasley shouted, leaning out of the kitchen.

Draco jumped at the thunderous bellow.

"Oh! That's right! Um…does anybody know where he went?" Draco asked, one foot out of the door.

The group of redheads (plus Hermione) twisted their mouths around thoughtfully and scratched their heads.

"Maybe he went to the Manor to look for you?" Hermione piped up.

"Or maybe he wanted to be alone…he did lose his boyfriend and discover a nefarious plot by his supposed friend all in just a couple days." Ron guessed.

"Oh, how am I ev…actually…I think I know where he'd go at a time like this." Draco said, brain lit with the epiphany.  
"Go! Go to him, then!" the group urged.

"I personally think it's a fool's errand and that Harry will never take you back, so you might as well not go to the trouble of rushing," sighed Ginny.

"I personally think that you're living in a dream world where Harry suddenly relinquishes his firm hold on homosexuality, somehow ignores all the pretty girls who _don't_ get unnecessarily trapped in dangerous chambers throwing themselves at him, and settles down to raise slut children with you." Draco responded. "Everyone else, it's been a pleasure, and I'm going to beg my heart out now. If he doesn't take me back…well, I hope you guys won't drop me, too."

"Pshh—we'll do better than that!" George promised.

"We'll beat him about the head until he swears to go back to you!"

"We'll fill his bed with locusts!"

"We'll turn all his robes pink!"

Draco accepted another round of hugs and well-wishing, and Apparated, catching his footing before looking up at the daunting image of the Shrieking Shack.

He took a deep breath and approached, despite the chill grabbing hold of his spine and shaking it—"Don't you fucking go in there! It's creepy!" the chill screamed, but he kept moving forward.

XXX

Harry hit the ground running, and went through the gate unfazed for once.

He hadn't exactly decided if he should make a grand entrance by shouting Draco's name and snatching the boy into an embrace when he found him—probably in full Malfoy, mini-Lucius regalia and in parlay with his father, or sneak about and find Draco on his own.

The Gryffindor knew that eventually he would have to meet his enemy, but that didn't mean that he was looking forward to it.

_Stop calling him the enemy. He's Draco's dad and he loves Draco. If Draco still wants to be with me then Lucius will back down; there's no way he's evil enough to purposefully destroy his only son and heir's happiness…Right?_

Harry didn't actually have to come to a consensus between the two warring factions of his Draco-related behavior, because even before he got to the house he could hear screaming.

Wand drawn and cold sweat jumping to his skin, Harry burst through the front doors, and snuck silently towards the wailing.

Outside Lucius' study about ten grimy house elves were milling about, whispering nervously to one another and pulling their ears down under their chins.

"Oh! Mister Harry Potter, sir! Thanks goodness you's here!" one whispered anxiously to him.

"You's gots to save him, sir!"

"What's going on? Where's Draco? Who's sobbing?"

"Master Draco did a very bad thing, Mister Harry Potter! And now the mistress and the master are having an Argument!"

"You have to do something, Mister Harry Potter! Before it's too late!" one of them wailed loudly.

The shrieks from inside the office were renewed, and it was hard for Harry to not cover his ears to the wordless wailing.

"_Alohomora_!" he hissed, and shoved the door open, wand drawn.

He nearly dropped it with shock.

"Oh God, please—save me!" Lucius wailed, dangling by a white ankle.

Narcissa, merciless, chopped off another long lock of hair, close to the skull. Lucius, hearing the chomp of her gardening shears, gave out another shriek.

"Mrs. Malfoy! What are you doing?!" Harry cried, looking at the foot-long strands of hair scattered over the desk and chair and ground.

"Getting him where it really hurts!" Narcissa growled.

Harry, breaking his eyes away from the sight of Lucius' luscious hair chopped short, saw that his eyebrows were missing, but had been replaced by painted-on scribbles of black that made him look surprised, as they were half an inch above where his eyebrows should be.

"Stop it!" Harry shouted, as her shears were set around another lock of hair. Lucius, eyes clamped shut with dread, popped them open in surprise.

"What?" Narcissa asked dangerously.

"I said stop it. God—how did you even get him up there?"

"I didn't. Draco did."

It was Harry's turn to be shocked.

"_Draco_?"

"He strung him up and booked it out of here—looking for you, it sounded like. You two didn't meet up?" Narcissa asked, cleaning stray strands of white-blonde hair from her gardening shears.

"We must have missed each other. I have to go find him. Um…good luck, Mr. Malfoy."

"Wait!" Lucius cried at Harry's departure. "Narcissa! Put me down this instant!"

Narcissa, showing Harry where Draco had gotten this from, took her time and lazily set him right as if it were her sudden whim to do so.

"Do you mind? I'd like to talk to the boy." Lucius said tightly. His hair, if it was possible, looked even more ridiculous when it wasn't upside down.

Narcissa had chopped randomly, and had progressed pretty far by now, so there was only a long patch over Lucius' left ear and at the back of his skull.

He still stood with rigid self-importance, although the black scribbly eyebrows detracted from this haughty stance.

"You better drop to your knees as soon as I close that door and beg him to spare your life." Narcissa warned her husband, and strolled languidly from the room.

Lucius immediately collapsed back into his chair, pouting grievously as he stroked his remaining two locks.

"Um…thank you. A word from you and she probably would have gotten and ear along with my hair." Lucius said almost sheepishly.

"Yeah, well…I'm not sure why I did it. Sometimes I'm too much a Gryffindor for my own good." Harry grumbled.

"Ah…yes…about that whole…well, I'm assuming by your glower that you already know about what Narcissa suspects me of."

"Blaise told me."

"Ah."

"Why did you do it?" Harry asked, trying to keep the petulance out of his voice.

"Oh, er…well, I had my misguided reasons but…Draco told me about you two planning on getting married." Lucius sighed, rolling his shoulders.

"Oh…so, are you going to murder me now?"

"What? No, no. I just…well, with the way your relationship started out, can you blame me for thinking that you and Draco weren't too invested in each other? I mean, yeah, you said you were in love, but you're only seventeen! I'm not in the habit of trusting everything a seventeen year old says, or _thinks_ he feels."

"But you believe me now? That I love Draco?"

"Well, I know for sure that Draco loves you—you don't hex your own father over trifling affairs. That's all I need to know. Come here. And you can put your wand away now."

Harry blushed and put his wand away nervously, approaching to where Lucius was now standing, in front of a painting of two entertwined cherry trees, undulating slightly in the wind.

The blonde man pulled the painting away to reveal a mahogany case resting in a small shelf there. Lucius pulled it out carefully and sat down in one of the chairs near the fireplace, setting the case on his knees.

Harry was half afraid of what he would see therein, but Lucius removed the lid and no dark spirits pooled out of it, so Harry relaxed.

Instead, Harry saw white satin covering a soft base with four slots in it.

Two of the slots were empty, and two were filled. One with a plain black ring. The other with a gold ring holding a cluster of sparkling diamonds and one black, pear-shaped jewel.

"I'm afraid the ancestors weren't too…what's that word you kids use? Hip? Or is it hep? They weren't to hep on gay couples, but Draco seemed very proud of his ring, so I doubt he'll be clamoring for his grandmother's ring. But this," Lucius slipped the black ring from the satin—it seemed more than black, as if it were stealing brightness away from the air around it. The eye was inescapably drawn to it—it demanded every attention. Harry noticed that an impressive, unadorned "M" was carved into it.

Harry stole a glance at Lucius' own ring finger—it was a stark white-gold ring, like the infamous Malfoy hair coloring.

"This I'd like you to have. The Malfoy signet ring. My father's ring."

Harry thought for sure that he was hallucinating. He had stepped out of the hallway and into an alternate reality.

"What?" Harry asked starkly. He thought he saw a slightly pinkish coloring to Lucius' cheeks—barely, but didn't trust his senses enough to be completely sure at this moment.

"Of course, if you already have a ring, I completely understand." Lucius muttered, putting the ring back.

"No—I don't. I meant…are you sure you want me to have this? I mean…you pretty much hate me."

Lucius' eyes jerked up to Harry's with surprise. "What? Hate you?"

"Don't you?"

"You believe that? I mean, Draco said…but I thought he was exaggerating…" Lucius chuckled and reached his hand out—it took everything Harry had not to flinch—and patted Harry's arm. "Harry. You're a seventeen year old _boy_. I don't hate you any more than I hate any other seventeen year old boy who's grabbing my son's arse. But of course, now that you're getting married, you can play grab-arse as much as you like. That's the difference between being married and being some hooligan that drools as my son's bits. Of course I take an old-fashioned notion of marriage," Lucius said darkly. "Don't you dare accept this ring if you don't completely plan on making Draco happy in every way conceivable, caring for him, and keeping him safe. If you take this ring and my trust and renege on this agreement, I won't be the only one planning your expedient demise; you'll have Narcissa and all of her imagination to contend with, too."

Harry eyed the man carefully, and reached for the ring, taking it solemnly and slipping it onto his ring finger where it shifted fluidly to fit his thinness.

"For as long as I live, my life will be devoted to your son. Whatever happiness I can give him, I will; whatever care he needs, he'll get; and I'll die before I let him come to harm. I swear it."

"Oh my freaking god are you adorable!" a woman's voice cried, and the next thing he knew, Harry was clutched in two deceptively frail arms.

"Hey! I said I wanted to talk to him—I meant _alone_!" Lucius said, obviously pouting.

"Oh _please_, like I'm going to miss out on this uber-darling reconciliation session. That's the most precious thing I've ever friggin seen!" Narcissa wailed.

"Um…Mrs. Malfoy—if you could let me go…I have to go track down your son." Harry said, his muffled voice barely audible through Narcissa's robes.

"Oh—right! You still have to clean up this mess my jackass husband's made!"

"Hey!"

"Oh, shut up, dear. Harry, darling, now listen to me—you have to think of a place that means a lot to you and Draco and go there, and he'll show up--I swear. That's what it says in all the books. It's much more romantic than Apparating all over the country trying to track him down."

"A place that means a lot to us? Umm…well, I guess there's—"

"Don't say it! If you say it it won't come true—that's one of the main facets of ancient magic. Trust me."

"Okay. Um, I guess I'll get going, then."

"Oh, one more hug! My baby's getting married! Oh-h!" Narcissa wrestled Harry into another bear hug, and only stopped when Lucius started to protest.

"Narcissa—they'll never get back together if you don't let him go!" When Harry was free he and Lucius looked at each other awkwardly and Lucius patted him on the back, letting his hand bear down reassuringly, and made a sort of stern, approving look that Harry thought might ahve been the Malfoy Wink, if it weren't marred by the freak eyebrows.

"Well—see you." Harry murmured, and Apparated.

XXXX

A/N: I'll try try try to get the next chapter out at a reasonable time! Not much happening in this chapter, I think. Mostly filler. Hope you don't hate it anyway! Thank-You shout-out to CrazyDudette—you're super helpful and I super appreciate it! Super!


	36. The Meeting

Draco unscrunched his face and unsqueezed his eyes and untensed his body. The Whomping Willow was already motionless. He stuck his head further out of the passage between the roots, and, not being an idiot, scurried far away from the tree before it came back to life rather than stare at its still branches like a dolt.

His heart was beating hard and fast, and not only because he'd just made a solitary journey through that terrible Shack, but because if the Willow was already still…

Draco glanced about him, and noted the crushed snow/ice—footprints.

He had been right, then!

He couldn't stop himself from running to his destination until he slipped and fell onto his arm, after which he decided to take it a bit slower and nurse his wound. Besides, Harry might not even take him back. Why rush towards that?

It was like Ginny said—this was a fool's errand. Harry would have to be insane to take him back after everything he had said to the Gryffindor. And Harry was mostly not insane.

When Draco thought that he was close enough to see his destination, he kept his eyes firmly on the ground in front of his feet.

If Harry wasn't there, he would be completely at a loss. He didn't want that useless feeling, so he put it off for as long as possible by not looking.

Instead, he turned his eye to the past, and rejoiced in the happy memory that soothed the ache inside of him like a salve.

After three months of nothing, Harry and he had seen each other again in September—both of them a year older. Their relationship was still under wraps at that point, so nothing overt could take place, but Draco had felt every glance of the brunette like a cold hand caressing his spine. He was bothered to distraction by it, but had to maintain some semblance of control until they were in private.

He had gotten a note as soon as the feast was over, and had tortured himself by not opening it right away.

_The lake. You know where. _The note said when he did open it. And he did know—the tree by the lake that Harry and he had always proposed making love under all spring, but never had. Was Harry going to finally do it now? Under the cover of darkness?

Draco rushed to the spot as soon as he could get away.

He could see Harry a ways off even in the dark, and purposefully walked softly so as to not be heard. This would be the first time after three months that he would touch the Gryffindor, extract that perfect moan from his perfect throat, feel the heat of those hot green eyes roaming on his skin—oh, but how much more he wanted. His fantasies had had free reign all summer, and they had upped the ante. Now that they were being fulfilled through ardent sex with Harry at least once a week, they wanted more.

But would Harry give it to him?

He was terrified to ask. He had clearly said this was solely NSA when he had approached Harry in April. What would Harry do if he requested more than that? He didn't want to lose Harry completely due to greed.

When he was close enough to see what Harry was doing, he fears fled.

Harry, obviously waiting a while and bored, was drawing a heart on the root of the tree with his wand—the light of which came out startling gold.

It was just a heart, but Draco felt as if their initials were included there, too.

He must have made some accidental sound, because Harry turned to him suddenly, shocked and not a little embarrassed.

He knew that he could make fun of the boy, and it would all go back to how it was in April. He knew this and shoved it away. Instead, he collapsed down next to Harry and kissed him fervently on the mouth like he had never done before.

They had made love under that tree, and for the first time it was making love and not fucking.

Draco, in the present, stopped in his tracks. The ground was becoming steep. That meant maybe another fifteen meters between him and that tree, the heart (or the last he'd seen of it) still glowing gold.

He clenched his body tight, steeling himself against the dual dangers: Harry not being there and the search starting anew, and Harry being there but still unattainable.

He raised his head, and his heart caught in his throat at the tall, bundled figure with the black-topped head, staring into the lake.

Draco felt his mouth open, and heard words spurt out, and that was about as much as he had to do with what he said next.

"This house you're thinking of for us—how's it doing in way of picket fences?"

Draco was surprised he had gotten even that far before Harry reached him and dragged him into a crushing embrace that he returned with ample desperation.

Draco's voice and mind linked back together, and he came back to himself, murmuring in a litany of tearfulness, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry."

Until Harry finally shut him up by clasping their mouths together. Draco, in face of this onslaught, thought that his mouth had the shortest memory span of any other body part: he kissed Harry as if they had never kissed before—or kissed thousands of years ago, in a million past lives; Harry's taste was shocking in its newness yet its familiarity. He tasted a saltiness in the kiss, and thought that one of them must be crying, and that if it was only one of them, it was probably him.

"Where's your cloak?" Harry laughed thickly when the kiss broke, but when Draco opened his mouth only a half-sob broke loose. He hadn't even realized until now that he had never grabbed a cloak on his mad dash from the Manor. Harry laughed again, and sniffled as he unhooked his own cloak and moved Draco inside it with him.

Draco pressed his face between the cloak collar and Harry's throat, holding Harry's lithe body tightly.

He didn't ask if Harry was taking him back. This act was enough for him. Plus, if he was mistaken, he didn't want to know about it.

"I missed you so much," Draco groaned wetly. "And I'm so sorry for being mean to you and I swear to never do it again, and if I ever say anything like that to you again, I won't feel badly at all if you punch me right in the face—I really won't. I'll totally deserve it. And I don't care if you want twenty kids, or want to live in the Shrieking Shack with no house-elves, and have all the Weasleys over for dinner every night, and we never go to balls or operas or ballets or anything. I don't care—just never leave me!"

Harry held him and shushed him gently, rocking him soothingly back and forth.

"Draco, Draco. I don't care if we have one kid and live at the Manor with your parents walking in on us every hour and fifty house-elves and the Weasleys aren't allowed over for dinner and we go to those things every night. I'm _never_ going to leave you."

"Well, let's compromise. We can have ten kids, live halfway between the Manor and Hogsmeade, with twenty-five house-elves and the Weasleys can come over once a week and we'll go to those things every other day." Draco laughed.

"So long as I'm with you." Harry assured, looking into Draco's eyes lovingly.

"I was lying," Draco admitted softly. "I need a house-elf."

"I was lying too," said Harry. "There's no way I'm living in the Manor."

They leaned against one another for a long, silent minute before Draco whispered, "I'm worried."

"What? Why?" Harry asked in horror.

Draco ducked his head abashedly.

"I think that the readers are bummed out that you didn't make me beg and plead. I was pretty evil to you. You need to enact revenge somehow."

"What? Surely they're not that vindictive." Harry said, slightly shocked.

"You don't know them like I know them, Harry," Draco said with a shiver.

"Um…okay…er, I won't take you back unless you beg and plead and…such stuff."

"That's not believable at all. There's no way they'll go for it." Draco complained.

"Draco Malfoy—you did terrible deeds against me, and it's going to take some serious sucking up before I even _consider_ taking you back!" Harry growled, and that authoritative voice did exciting things to Draco.

"Oh, Harry! You're my entire world and I'm nothing without you and if you stoop to accept my most heartfelt apology I swear to the heavens above that I'll be the most devoted husband to you the wizarding world has ever seen!" Draco cried, clutching Harry anew.

"Do you think that did it?" Harry whispered to the blonde conspiratorially.

"Who knows with these people? I guess we'll find out on the review board." Draco hissed in reply.

"Can we go sit down? All this Apparating has made me weak in the knees."

"Oh, Harry, that's not the Apparating, that all the love! But yeah, now that all this running around is over and done with, I'm two seconds from sleeping standing up. I'm exhausted." Draco groaned.

They settled down under the tree, Draco curled against Harry's side, resting his heavy head on Harry's broad shoulder. When he nuzzled Harry's neck shyly the boy gave in and stroked his hair, resting his cheek against the crown of Draco's head.

"You haven't been sleeping?" Harry asked softly as Draco was nearly asleep.

The blonde shook his head and replied drowsily, "Have you been able to?"

"Actually…yeah. But I tried my hardest to have troubled sleep and insomnia, really I did! I just…I guess my body just didn't believe that we were actually broken up."

"You didn't have any guilt, that's why. Every time I shut my eyes I saw you after I said that—you just looked so hurt; it was horrible."

Harry kissed Draco's forehead before the Slytherin could get too worked up.

"We're together now. That's what matters."

"We should set out ground rules for fighting, like we did back in April. We need a new set of Treaty Agreements."

"Maybe we could make it part of our nuptials." Harry chuckled.

"How romantic," Draco murmured sarcastically, but he undermined his sarcasm by holding Harry's free hand under the cloak.

He felt something cool on Harry's warm finger, and looked at the boy in shock, pulling the tan hand into the daylight to reveal a ring that was more than black.

"My grandfather's ring?! Where did you get this?" Draco asked in amazement.

"Actually…your dad gave it to me."

"What?! Gramps McEvilFace gave you the Malfoy signet ring?!"

"Uh, if by Gramps McEvilFace you mean your dad, then yeah."

"I…but…he—he was the one trying to break us up!"

"Him and Blaise. I took care of Blaise, and you and your mom took care of your dad. The end." Harry said stoically, doing his best let's-not-get-into-this voice. But Draco decided he would rather get this out in the open now rather than have it pop up unresolved in its own time.

"My mom? What did she do?"

"Oh, just wait till you see it. I'm not going to ruin the surprise." Harry chuckled.

"Uh oh. That doesn't sound good. She didn't castrate him or anything, did she?"

"Not physically."

"I don't want to know. So what did you do to Blaise? Ginny said you shoved him flat on his arse—what else?" Draco questioned eagerly.

"Else? Oh, um…well…"

"That's it?! You just shoved him and that's all?!"

"Well, his whole plan collapsed—I think that was enough of a blow!"

"_Nuh-uh!_" Harry could tell that Draco was about to lose his mind because he said something as plebian as 'nuh-uh,' and he was not disappointed. "_Ohhhh_ when I get my hands on that little ingrate! I am going to kill him in the most horrible way possible! I'm going to blow him and his wandering hands into ninth-circle-of-hell oblivion! I'm going to hang him until he's just a _little_ bit dead, and then I'm going to throw him off a cliff! But if all else fails I'm going to hex a giant, everlasting zit right on the end of his repulsively perfect nose!!" Draco's chest was heaving with vindictiveness, and Harry slowly unclamped Draco's claw-like hand from his arm.

"…Where did that come from?" he asked slowly.

Draco seemed to come back to himself and blushed, ducking his head against his shoulder abashedly.

"Um, sorry…I've read the review board one too many times, I think…"

"_UhYeah_."

"I just think that the little brat shouldn't get away with it, that's all." Draco sulked.

"So long as I've got you, I don't much care what becomes of Blaise Zabini." Harry said softly, stroking Draco's hair back to bring the boy back to calm. Harry continued on when Draco seemed less than satisfied with his response. He was a Slytherin, after all. Revenge was necessary. "Plus, once word gets around school—and I'm not saying who would be spreading said word—I doubt he's going to get many new conquests. Probably, friendless and destitute after his mother blows all his money in Monaco or some such place, he'll end up jumping from bed to bed seeking solace and every other pleasant thing you and I already have. And if he were to show up at our wedding for you to properly rub it in, there would be nothing I could do to prevent that."

Draco eyed his boyfriend, trying not to show exactly how much that scenario met his every need.

"Maybe I'll just invite his mother and she can tell him about it when she gets home," he said happily.

Draco was just about to climb into his fiancé's lap when a booming voice bellowed loud enough to shake a few dead leaves from the tree.

"HARRY! MALFOY! What'er yer doin' here?!"

"Oh, hi, Hagrid," Harry greeted as the half-giant lumbered up to them with that totally useless dog of his. "We were just proposing marriage."

"WHAT?!" Draco could actually see the man's mouth through his shaggy beard his jaw dropped so far. Fang quirked his head to the side in confusion.

"Oh yeah, we've been practicing all holiday, but I think we've finally got it right," Draco replied, standing and keeping an arm clingingly around Harry's waist. "Do you want to see my ring? It's freaking gorgeous."

"_MARRIED_?!"

"Yep."

"You're invited, of course. I'll have my parents order you a nice big chair. But please try and keep the bawling to a minimum—I'm really eager to hear Harry's vows, and I don't want to miss anything. You only do it once, after all."

"Unless you're a Zabini."

"OHMIGOD!" Hagrid immediately started bawling, and Fang copied his sounds perfectly. "We 'ave to tell the headmaster! Oh! My baby's all grown up an' gettin' married! Come 'ere you crazy kids!"

Draco immediately found himself in a crushing embrace that got rid of that nasty kink in his back and smelled mightily of turnips. Hagrid, in his estimable excitement, pulled the boys onto his shoulders and started bounding his way up to the castle, singing something ruff and wet at his loudest timbre (Fang joining in), but Draco only laughed, holding onto Harry tightly to ensure against tumbling off from this great height.

XXX

Harry tried to pull his spine upright under the heavy figure using him as a cane, but to no use. He leaned up on a wall to give him some release instead.

"You crazy, no-brain punks," the surprisingly heavy man slurred at him.

"Hey, hey! Half of the lovebirds!" a jovial man Harry had never met shouted at him, and clanged his heavy glass of butter beer against Harry's own, crippled down by his waist, effectively spilling beer all over his jeans before moving on.

When Dumbledore had said that a celebration was in order to commemorate the joining of the Malfoys and the Potters, Harry had been appreciative, and even glowed slightly with the happiness of Dumbledore obviously caring so much for him.

Of course when all of Hogsmeade plus any relations that could be roused on such short notice had showed up for a free drink or five, and a proper celebratory reason to get completely sloshed, Harry had been less excited.

"I blame _you_," his burden said in a small, weepy voice. "He was such a good, properly evil boy before you came along."

Luckily by now, after hours of drinking, hours of dinner, and hours of more drinking, the party was winding down, although Harry could tell that there were certain groups that fully planned on aggressively pursuing drunkenness until late into the evening or early into the morning, whichever they could stay standing till.

"Goodbye, Harry—see you for the wedding! You'll let me bartend, won't you?" Madam Rosmerta questioned on her way out.

"Sure, sure. See you then." Harry grit out, trying to move the heavy weight so it wouldn't pinch his shoulders so much.

He regained his breath, watching Professor McGonogall thoroughly jamming out to the band someone had pulled out of a pub. Dumbledore had finally been allowed to play the tambourine, and so would probably be amused for another ten minutes before he would completely lose interest and move on to hitting on more people. That man had to learn to stay away from that damn Klatchian wine!

Of course, Snape had disparaged on using such an easy out to complete drunkenness—he believed that pure inebriation had to be attained through the pain of doing multiple shots of Firewhiskey throughout the evening. And only once he was properly drunk did he seek Harry out to punish the boy with his drunkenness.

"So you're a good lover. So what. Hmph. Kids think that's all that matters. You're good in the sack? Okay, let's get married. Pop. You're married. Ha!" Snape said bitterly, yanking Harry's beer out of his hand and downing it in one gulp.

"_I'm_ good in the sack. You don't see anyone marrying _me_," the man grumbled.

"Are you ready to go to bed yet? I'm not going to carry you around all night, you know. Eventually I'm going to Apparate and you're going to fall flat on your face."

"Pshh—yeah _right_. Gryffindor." Snape went from aggravating to weepy instantly, a mood change that had been throwing Harry off guard for the better part of twenty minutes. "You're going to take care of my little godson, aren't you?" the main wailed mightily.

"Yes, I said—yes! For God's sake, I'll take care of him!"

"You don't mean that," Snape growled angrily. "You men are all the same!"

Harry sighed in aggravation as his load began to shake with angry sobs, jolting him.

"Harry, love, are you done playing with Professor Snape? I'm completely exhausted." Draco sighed, coming up and swiping Harry's bangs out of his eyes.

"Yeah, I've got to dump this crybaby someplace, first. Any ideas?"

"I don't know the password to the Slytherin commons right now."

"Despair." Snape muttered promptly.

"Oh would you shut up already—god, I knew you'd be a miserable drunk, but really!" Harry growled.

"That's the password, you dolt!" Snape growled back, managing to sound almost lucid when insulting Harry. He could even tell to shut up when he felt a wand tip at his throat.

"Don't call my fiancé a dolt." Draco said low, and Snape gulped at the intensity of his voice.

"Ok-aay!" Snape keened when it became obvious Draco wanted a response.

Draco dropped his wand and stooped down to kiss Harry lightly, and act he had been spicing the night with generously. Harry thought that he was just taking pleasure in all the little relationship things he had missed the last few days—kissing Harry softly for no reason, touching him and holding his hand and brushing his hair back. Harry was enjoying just as much—he hadn't realized that that nervous energy within him had been the energy normally spent on Draco.

"I'm going to bed then—I thought the Room of Requirement would be a good choice." Draco said, and then whispered in Harry's ear so that chills scurried up and down his core, "Bigger bed."

Harry didn't think he had ever made a faster trip to the Slytherin commons, despite dragging his discombobulated cargo.

He was already on his way out when he was pulled back by a hand gripping the back of his robe.

"Oh come on—seriously? Can't you just be a good boy so I can go get some?" Harry shouted, but went silent seeing Snape's calm, resigned demeanor.

_Oh my God, he really is going to murder me!_ Harry thought in face of this kind of calm.

He seemed to have broken through to a new side of drunkenness that made him serious and slightly terrifying. Yet, as it turned out, strangely more tender than he was ever likely to be sober.

"I've watched Draco grow up for seventeen years now. You can't know what that's liket. Just keep in mind that I've been caring about him for seventeen years, and you've got only a tiny fraction of that under your belt. Just…take care of him. It's hard enough watching everyday cruel things happen to him; I couldn't bear to watch you break his heart."

Harry stared at his normally heartless teacher as the man sat slumped, not meeting his eyes. For the first time Harry thought that the man looked very frail, as if any blow might do him in. He had few human interests. Draco sometimes joked (or sounded joking when he talked about it) that Snape had once been in love with Lucius. If so, Harry thought that either it had dissipated, or Snape had learned to live without him somehow. Nowadays Draco seemed to be the only person in the world Snape cared for personally.

Harry sighed heavily and put his hand carefully on Snape's boney shoulder, like petting a normally vicious dog that at least appeared to be sedated.

"I'll do everything I can." Harry promised.

Snape gave him a sneaky little look out of the corner of his eye.

"That means keeping yourself safe, too, dolt. I don't see how you expect Draco to last without you."

Harry glared at the crafty man. "I'll keep myself safe."

"No mischief, running about at all hours of the night, chasing after criminals or Dark Lords or possessed teachers."

"Okay, I get it, I get it." Harry muttered.

"No more blithely disobeying orders from your better-informed elders. No more sulking at not being included on dangerous Order missions. No more wild romps on the Quidditch pitch in the middle of the night."

"Now you're pushing it old man." Harry growled. "I'll be good, I'll keep safe, I'll do it in my own vague way. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a future husband to sleep with." Harry said, turning to leave.

"Do I still get to be a bridesmaid? Because I really was looking forward to it… Please? Potter?"

X

Draco sighed his way out of his heavy robes with exhaustion. Finally he was going to get a good night's sleep—he'd make sure that Harry held him as tight as humanly possible so his presence would follow him into his sleep. He'd sleep for days.

Just as Draco was toeing off his shoes, there was a terrifying rattle at the windows that made him jump about a foot in their air—but it was only an owl.

"Please don't let the hate mail be starting up already," he groaned, opening the window and deftly catching the flat white package.

His heart jumped a couple beats in his chest, tapping out a happy tempo on his ribcage as he recognized the emblazoned logo. The package from Jenilyn Jewlers. He had placed his order—what? A week ago? It felt so much longer than that.

Draco smirked happily and set the package on the bedside table to give Harry later when they would have plenty of time to enjoy it. Bending back down to strip off his socks, Draco straightened back up almost immediately as the door creaked open eagerly.

Only when Harry looked him over from top to bottom in shock did he realize that he was still wearing Harry's Ramones T-shirt. He had exactly no time to explain before Harry's lips were pillaging his, wide hands roaming and pulling at his body in that deliciously hectic way Draco always craved.

XXXXX

A/N: I'm too busy writing the next chapter to write a note. Ye-owza! I hope I can manage to write decently enough to do it justice!

But I do want to say thank you to chadni, manthara, and neverenough for coming up with those great ways to get back at Blaise that Draco was spewing under the tree!


	37. Making Up

Draco exalted in that age-old feeling of being cradled delicately and laid upon a soft bed, Harry's delicious weight pressing him into the mattress.

He eased his hands up Harry's torso, delving them into his deep black hair and pulling those luscious lips harder against his own, tasting as much of the boy as he could, nearly crying out when Harry pulled away to rid himself of his glasses.

"Nox," the brunette murmured.

In the spasmodic illumination of the fireplace, Draco looked keenly into the dark green eyes reflecting pinpoints of light, hovering above him. In place of their torpid, rushed attack from only a minute ago, something anew pushed to the fore.

Slowly, hesitantly, Harry eased himself forward and Draco shifted timidly upwards, lips touching softly as if they had never touched before.

There was so much that Draco wanted to tell Harry, but the both of them seemed at a complete loss for words, their bodies acting out their conversation in the only way necessary.

The dark, flickering room was increasingly host to harsh breathing, sighs and gasps rather than its usual noisy inhabitants.

Draco arched his back deftly as Harry's fingers moved the hem of the shared shirt at a torturous pace, inch by inch up his lithe torso, easing it eventually over a pale hill of a roiling shoulder, breaking his mouth from Draco's long column of a throat for only the necessary instant. His hand flexed tight on the black cloth before pitching it to the floor.

Wordlessly, he moved his legs to either side of his quarry, sitting up and shrugging off his cloak, exposing irresistible swaths of dark skin as he pulled his own T-shirt up and over his head—skin that Draco immediately greeted with his lips in delighted homecoming. His pale hands itched to sweep across every briefly lost plane—two days apart, but it had felt like so much longer!—across the angle of hipbone peeking over black jeans, muscular back, protruding collar bones.

Harry moved Draco's lips to meet his own and gently pulled the cloying hands away from him, pinning them to the mattress in the unspoken agreement that Draco would keep them there, even as their captors moved without breaking contact with Draco's smooth skin to the last obstacle: Draco's pants.

Draco sighed raggedly, tossing his head back and gripping the headboard to keep his hands from breaking their recent agreement. Harry kissed Draco's hipbone lovingly and slid his hands slowly down Draco's slender legs, taking black slacks and dark boxers ahead of them.

The blonde levered himself onto his elbows, watching as Harry's eyes roamed the luminous length of his nakedness. Harry seemed almost stunned into immobility by the sight of him—had it really been so long since Draco had been bared before him so wantonly? Or was it just that Harry was finally realizing that this body belonged to him nearly as much as his own? That there was little to which Draco wouldn't put this body to his service for Harry?

Harry's eyes finally reached his own, and, answering some silent invitation, or maybe just a mutual understanding that Harry was pleased into uselessness for a moment, Draco slid fluidly to his knees, meeting Harry's throat with his lips, and Harry's jeans with his hands. The brunette pushed and moved the side of his face against Draco's soft hair tenderly as Draco eased the supple jeans down his hips until bent knees hindered further progress. Draco guided his lover back against him, maneuvering them flat against the bed again and exalting in the addictive feel of Harry's bare skin pressed against him in the most delicious places.

Recovered from his momentary blank out at this velvety contact, Draco writhed beneath the darker boy, slowly scraping Harry's jeans from his long legs. He smiled with pride, not only at Harry's tortured breathing against the shallow of his collarbone, but at toeing those last vestments from Harry's ankles, shoving himself upwards to gain enough leverage to kick them to the floor, forcing an airy groan from his newly nude lover.

Draco hadn't realized he was grinding so prodigiously against the welcoming warmth and weight of his fiancé until Harry's hands stopped aimlessly exploring his skin and pinned his hips still, eliciting a suffering sigh. Harry pulled away from so that Draco's straining mouth couldn't reach him, staring the boy into a calm for long enough to silently ask permission.

Draco nodded, gritting his teeth to try and gain some control over his struggling, wanton limbs. He closed his eyes and experienced the next few moments purely by touch—Harry's hand drifting, slowly, tenderly down from his hip bone, slipping coolly between his thighs, burning with anticipation, pushing one leg away, stretching the tendons there achingly.

It was almost a shock to hear the deep timbre of Harry's voice murmuring the much important spell after all this time of silence, but Draco, feeling his entrance made slick with a cool salve, couldn't focus on that slight shock.

Draco made a dissatisfied sound when he felt Harry's finger seeking for entrance, pulling the offending limb away from where it aimed, holding it firmly in his grasp near his head and forcing Harry to shift upwards towards the headboard. Gazing amorously into passion-darkened green eyes, Draco hooked a leg around Harry's hips, pulling the boy against him, knowing that that would be enough to get his request across.

Harry nodded, freeing his hand to guide himself towards Draco's bidding. Draco threw his head back, drawn-out sigh escaping him as he felt that pressure at his entrance. His kisses to that exposed throat petered out as he increasingly forgot himself, groaning and sighing against Draco's jumping pulse-point as he eased himself deeper and deeper into the blonde.

Fully immersed, Harry forced himself onto his elbows, staring down in wonder at the nearly incandescent beauty beneath him, rejoicing yet amazed that he was lucky enough to be in this situation and to be promising to enter into this situation for the rest of his life. It amazed him that, after all the disasters in his life, he was going to have the good fortune to devote the rest of his days to this man.

Draco's eyes blinked open, and he slipped his hands from their clutch at anything on hand to stroke back Harry's damp black locks, pulling the staring boy into a tender, ardent kiss. Thus, Harry was reminded back into action, kissing Draco passionately, moving finally within him. Draco broke the kiss with a gasp when Harry shifted positions and thrust in again, brushing that electric spot inside him.

His neck longed to show the strength of the sparks riding his spine by arching itself back against the pillow, but Harry's lips were too magnetic—if he couldn't control his mouth enough to kiss the dark-skinned boy, he could at least stay close at hand and rejoice in their close company.

Harry nipped his bottom lip before pulling back enough to guide Draco's leg against his shoulder, driving in again at a delicious angle that made Draco's world explode. He couldn't help it now—the fireworks cascading thought him forced ever sprawling appendage to clutch, every bend to arch. His head tossed blindly against the pillows and his own voice crying out surprised him dimly for its volume in the otherwise mostly silent room.

Although Harry had hardly changed his tender pace from the outset of their joint endeavor, Draco could feel himself at least growing torpid and wild—his only want being for Harry to share his desperation. He had no doubt that Harry was faced with the same furious need, the desire to drop all caution and precision and go mad. To get his request across, Draco hooked his free leg tight around Harry's lunging hips, pulling them tight to his body, and at the same time pushing his body upwards to meet with Harry's deep thrusts.

Faced with this dual onslaught, Harry groaned loudly, pushing himself forwards to hover over the blonde, hips bucking wildly.

Draco already on the brink of climax, was overcome with the heady sight of the normally innocent-looking, near virginal "good boy" completely lost to his pleasure, wanton with it.

"Ha-Harry!" he cried aloud, and the brunette, hearing the warning in his voice, shoved those extra inches forward, kissing him soundly and intensely and it was the final straw in both their cases—passions exploding forth hotly.

Harry half-collapsed on top of the frail blonde, body wracked with heaving breaths. Draco couldn't find brain cells left over to care, and hardly noticed the brunette's considerable weight, petting his black hair idly.

"Draco, Draco," the boy murmured, kissing the skin immediately available.

"I love you," the blonde sighed. Harry managed to hold himself up, smiling at his lover—damp white-blonde hair, stark blue-silver eyes, flushed cheeks and kissed-red lips.

"I love you, too." he replied, pushing himself forward to kiss Draco gently and relieving the blonde from his weight, rolling off next to him.

Draco cleaned them up with a quick spell, and maneuvered the thick covers over them, leaning himself against Harry's calmed chest.

"Oh—I nearly forgot!" he said suddenly, breaking himself from near-sleep. He turned the lights back up and grabbed the white package from the nightstand. He blushed slightly as he said, "Um…I ordered you something, a while back. You don't have to open it now if you're too tired, but…"

"Are you kidding? You know that no presents are safe in my sight!" Harry said, immediately awake.

"Good. Well…here. Um, I guess I should prelude this gift by saying, you remember when we had that first big fight, and you said that I show you around like a well-trained dog?"

Harry's face, just recovered from the ardor of the evening, blushed scarlet anew.

"Er…yeah…sorry," he said sheepishly.

"No, you were right. Well…this gift is kind of a renewable reward for not murdering me when I do that."

"…Ok-ay." Harry said, eyeing the blonde carefully. Draco handed over the present, and Harry pulled apart the white wrapping to reveal a small, wide, white velvet case.

"What is this?" Harry questioned, seeing the jeweler's engraved coat of arms on the box. Instead of waiting for a response, he opened the case with a small _clack_, and quirked his head at the dark green dog's collar.

"…You got me a dog?" Harry questioned, but when Draco only smiled happily, he Acciod his glasses to read the engraved silver tag, forcing his hands still so he could read it.

_DRACO_

Harry raised his eyes slowly to meet the hooded blues of the blonde.

"I figure, when I boss you around, you should be allowed to boss me around, too. Of course since I'll be bossing you in public, and you'll be bossing me in private, I think your orders should be allowed to be a lot more interesting than mine."

"And…you'll _do_ them? What I say? No matter what I say?"

"I think there should be a few ground rules. But, comparatively speaking, you'll have free reign. Want me to try it on?"

"I'm telling you right now that if you put this dog's collar on, we will _not_ be going to sleep." Harry warned seriously.

"Well, keep in mind, at least, that I owe you one—feel free to collect whenever you wish. I'll be at your command."

"You better stop talking like that if you don't want a round two tonight."

"Okay, okay. Here, I'll put it away for you."

"I think I'd rather sleep with it under my pillow. It's so reassuring to have this kind of leverage on you. Imagine what the Prophet would pay for photos of you in nothing but a dog's collar."

"And that is now officially prohibited by our ground rules. No photos."

"Just joking! I am going to be the only person in this world to know about this—see you in this." Harry said, putting his new toy away and kissing Draco soundly on the lips. "Thank you."

"Anytime," Draco murmured, pulling Harry's glasses off again and brushing back his hair affectionately. "Now, let's go to sleep before I pass out."

Harry complied, turning out the lights and snuggling with his fiancé, falling asleep to the feel of Draco tracing sleepy circles on his back and tangling their legs together. There really wasn't anything as wonderful as sleeping with the cool, soft, love of his life. Except maybe sleeping with the cool, soft, love of his life in nothing but a dog's collar—but he'd have to look further into that to know for sure.

XXXX

A/N: This tiny chapter took me _all day_ to write! Seriously!

Um…so, tell me how to end it, now. I'm barren for closure-related plot devices.


	38. The End, Or Epilogue

Draco's hands were shaking, so he tightened his grip on his bouquet.

Standing, tense with excitement and not a little nervousness, his eyes fluttered closed and he left them as such, not wanting to expend energy from keeping his knees steady to open his eyes.

He couldn't keep the smile off his lips (even though his father had told him many times that Malfoys Are Somber at Weddings) as he opened them slightly to say in a barely audible voice,

"I do."

At these words, Harry opened one of his eyes, glowering in confusion at his taut fiancé.

"_Again_?" he groaned loudly when he realized what the boy was doing.

"Shut up!" Draco growled, turning on the boy.

Harry flopped back onto the bed, flinging an arm over his eyes to block them from the light that Draco had angled just so through the curtains to fall on his pale features as he stood in front of the mirror.

"It's still over a month off! If you keep practicing like this it's going to look rehearsed." Harry warned gravely.

"It will not. I'm a wonderful actor." Draco said loftily, shoving the bouquet of flowers back into their vase.

"Oh, _yeah_—you were _such_ a convincing invalid back in third year." Harry said sarcastically.

"You said we weren't going to talk about Ancient History." Draco grumbled, although he didn't say this very loudly. Ever since their Great Schism it had yet to be decided if Ancient History was on the table or not.

It left his mind, in any case, when Harry's hands began wandering their large bed as if he were blind.

"I thought for sure I was supposed to have a fiancé in bed with me? I know he was here when I went to bed last night. Where could he have gone? Surely he couldn't have slipped out of a nice, warm, comfortable bed with his one true love to practice his acceptance speech of matrimony in front of the mirror yet again?" Harry complained, and Draco smiled.

When the blonde climbed back into bed directly under those searching hands they caught and arrested him, holding him carefully as Harry happily kissed his face.

"What time is it, anyways?" Harry murmured, snuggling close to his blonde.

"It was about seven when I started…_practicing_. We should probably get up soon." Draco said, but neither of them moved.

Instead, Draco pet back thick black hair and let his eyes wander the room for the millionth time.

Back when teen marriage had been common enough to warrant attention, but not common enough to warrant strict regulations, private rooms had been set up for married couples still in school. Apparently Lucius and Narcissa had had their own private quarters during their last year, and thus Harry immediately balked when he and Draco were offered such quarters. Although they were yet to be married, they had rings, and that was apparently all that was required these days. They were engaged, and in most people's eyes, that amounted to the same thing as matrimony.

When Dumbledore had explained their eligibility for the private quarters, Harry had immediately turned the man down.

Of course, it had only taken one "tour" of the proposed chambers to change Harry's mind. In truth, Harry would rather do certain things in private. Especially if Draco threatened to cut him off unless they were done in private.

Draco had nearly had an aneurism due to his intense joy at seeing his own things mingled in with Harry's. The first time he opened the wardrobe and saw Harry's school robes beside his own, he had pounced upon the Gryffindor where he stood.

There were many such revelations, and in truth, Draco was starting to feel a bit sore. Next time it would be Harry's turn, he decided.

"Forty-seven days." Harry murmured into his throat, and it took all of Draco's self control not to shove the brunette onto his back and impale himself on him.

"Forty-six if you don't count today," he said happily.

"Forty-five if you don't count tomorrow." Harry replied cheekily.

"Punk. I can't believe I'm going to marry such a punk." Draco sighed, twisting a black lock around his pale finger.

"Well, how about you join me in an expedition to the shower and I'll make it all worth your while?" Harry whispered, lips suddenly brushing Draco's.

Draco didn't need to be propositioned twice.

XXX

"_Again_?" Ron groaned when the slightly-out-of-breath duo collapsed at the breakfast table.

They just smiled goofily back at him.

"That's _every day_ this week." Ron grumbled.

"Don't be jealous, Weasley. It's most unbecoming." Draco said haughtily, folding his napkin over his lap (and Harry's hand there divested).  
"Well," Hermione sighed, looking up from her book on wizarding marriage ceremonies. "It's just nice to see you two are taking it so well."

"Taking what so well?" Harry asked around his pancakes.

Draco made a mental note that Harry loved pancakes, and would say ridiculous things to get his hands on some chocolate-chip pancakes. Draco made a second mental note to learn how to make chocolate-chip pancakes.

"I don't think they've noticed yet." Ron said to his girlfriend. "They've been doing it again."

"Oh, honestly! Just because the Headmaster gave you a private chamber doesn't mean you have to take advantage of it _every night_!"

"We know we don't _have_ to." Harry replied.

"But it's there, so why not?" added Draco.

"Well then it'll be your own lascivious libido's faults that you haven't noticed the new addition at the Slytherin table," said Hermione.

Draco and Harry nearly got whiplash, they turned to the Slytherin table so fast.

All it took was a glance at chocolate-brown hair to get that scowl on Draco's face, and he turned back to his breakfast viciously.

"Well _la-di-da_. Who cares? I don't live there anymore," he bit out, stabbing his toast with butter.

"He looks ill. I guess the rumor was right, then." Harry said, turning back around disinterestedly.

"You really think he had a _breakdown_?" Ron whispered as if anyone would care overhearing him. It was the talk of Hogwarts as soon as everyone had gotten their fill of the Potter-Malfoy wedding.

"I don't see a tan. I doubt he was out _surfing_ for a week."

"Trelawney said that he had died," Draco recounted. "I know that she's an old fraud, but it did rather get my hopes up. After all, she can't be wrong all the time."

"Just the vast majority of the time," Harry laughed.

They were interrupted as Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott came to visit their table (Harry suspected that Hannah and Neville had had a particularly good break together at Hogwarts, helping Professor Sprout over holidays).

"Oh—show us again!" Susan pleaded eagerly, and every eye turned to the soon-to-be-newly-weds as they blushed but complied, showing off their rings again to Hannah and Susan's squeals.

"That is just so darling!" Hannah sighed dreamily, and appeared to fan herself as she went and sat down next to Neville.

"Some girls are so overly emotional!" Lavender Brown exclaimed to Seamus.

"Have you guys finally decided what you're going to call yourselves?" Seamus asked.

"Malfoys." Potter said as quickly as he could.

"You're such a liar! I already told you, I want Potter!"

"That's what she said," sniggered Dean Thomas, but immediately regretted it as everyone within hearing blushed at his expense.

"It says 'M' on my ring, what do you want me to do? Paint over it?"

"Just shove your names together," advised Ron.

"Or pick an entirely new name. I've always liked Beaniebaby. I saw it in a store somewhere." Lavender said.

"Why not Danger?" Seamus suggested.

"Oo! Change it to Awesome!" exclaimed Dean.

"Okay," Draco said sarcastically. "We'll just have a school-wide vote and we'll base our family name off whatever wins majority, eh?"

"Everybody vote for Awesome!"

"Fuck you, Dean! Danger, everybody! It's _perfect_!"

That at least got the flack off them, and Draco and Harry settled down to complete their breakfast.

"I guess you guys are feeling pretty super right now. Overcoming sinister plots and dreaded relationship problems and all that." Hermione said with a smile.

"Did you guys even resolve anything?" Ron muttered.

"I'm two seconds from resolving to make you vomit slugs again." Draco said in chipper tones.

"Well," Hermione said happily, clapping her hands together. "I guess the only thing left is for Draco to meet your family now, Harry!"

"…He's already met the Weasleys. You were there…" Harry said in great confusions.

Hermione sighed, pitying herself mostly for not Sorting herself into Ravenclaw where she would be understood.

"I mean: for Draco to meet the Dursleys!"

XXXXX

A/N: There's really no response to that.

Doom-Da-Da-Dooooommmm!

Except that that's the end of this story. But who knows? Sequels happen…Oh, wait—this _is_ a sequel already. Well, then, I guess I'm just plain done!

Thank you all for putting up with my angst and sticking it through to the end (if you did. which i guess you did if you're reading this). thanks, also, for all your wonderful ideas for the ending to this story. they were too good for this dinky epilogue. if you don't mind i'd love to use them in my not-sequels!


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